


Gnothi Seauton

by FigsForThistles



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FigsForThistles/pseuds/FigsForThistles
Summary: In the summer of 1898, the battleship "the Maine" is on the bottom of Havana Harbor, and Jennifer LaMontagne is now a widow obliged to return to her hometown to carve out a life for herself and her son.She hadn't expected being a housekeeper to the eccentric Reid family would send her on a journey more turbulent than the ocean tides, one that would alter the course of her life forever.
Relationships: Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/William LaMontagne Jr.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 60





	1. Recursa

**Author's Note:**

> This is my love letter to the state of Maine (and the sweepingly dramatic maladaptive daydreams that live in my head).  
> Rating is subject to change, but I'll be sure to warn ahead of time. I'm not sure if too many other CM characters will appear, but a few will surely wriggle themselves into the narrative. Heavily inspired by the novel 'Northern Light' by Jennifer Donnelly, and oddly enough, a lot of musical theater.

In the late summer of 1898, the state of Maine boasted 3,478 miles of craggy coastline. Though the Gilded Age roared along in Boston and points south, much of this vast expense of pine and rock remained steadfastly wedged in an age gone by, like a spinster aunt refusing to dress for dinner. 

The city of Biddeford remains, in the context of Maine, a thriving mill town, powered by the last rush of the Saco River as it empties into the ocean. A great migration of families sprawled out from the center of town to the farmlands, and finally the salt-flecked and weathered homes of the lobstermen on the shore. 

With the early morning mist still lingering in shimmery humidity on the bright grass, a modest chaise drawn by a stocky mare wound its way down toward what locals called “the Gut”. A young woman, blonde with fine features and wearing well-made, if not the most fashionable, clothes, shielded her face with her hand and gazed across the landscape. 

“Look, Henry! See the ocean? Can you smell the salt in the air?” She called to the equally towheaded boy of four wedged between a trunk and the backboard of the bench. 

“Ocean, mama!” The child said happily, pointing with fingers still slightly sticky with the evidence of a pilfered toffee. Jennifer, for that was the woman’s name, glanced back at her son and was nearly knocked out of her seat by the realization that everything is changing, and everything is new, and she was back in the town she was born in, and nothing will be the same. She swallowed a mouth full of saliva threatening to bring bile and set her jaw. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of women married men their families don’t approve of. Plenty of women had children. And certainly, she was not the only widow forced to crawl back home to a family that had little pity for a dead husband lying at the bottom of Havana Harbor, and a boy far too curious for his own good. 

In retrospect, Jennifer thought she should have expected the stilted reception and perfunctory hospitality that greeted her and her son upon her knock on the door of the clapboard house she grew up in. The sound of her mother’s thickly accented voice calling her Genevieve still echoed in her ears like a church bell. The Quebecois that immediately surrounded her along with the yeast-scented air of the home thrust her back to a time when she was still a girl, untested and untried. 

And she was grateful, really, that her mother hadn’t slammed the door in her face. Her father, her dearest Papa, lying in the living room in his sickbed...Jennifer shook her head to clear the tears from her vision. The only things in life she has left were confined to the buckboard: her son, her pressed flowers, letters from William that she could not bring herself to reread or burn. 

The mare blew hard through her snout, making Henry giggle as her Oncle Gustave reigned in the animal around one final gravelly bend. A weathered house-a cottage-came into view perched an outcropping of land that created a small, protective cove sheltering two boats. Henry was nearly vibrating with excitement at this point, shouting “Boats! BOATS, mama!” before she could turn to quiet him. 

“Shh, Henry,” she scolded, trying to quiet the drumbeat of her own heart echoing in her head. The Sisters of St. Joseph had recommended her to the widowed Mrs. Reid, in the care of her bachelor son and in need of a housekeeper. Jennifer understood that Mr. Reid senior had suddenly passed, and his widow sat in the house with him until the body had begun to stink in the early spring heat. There had been talk of the county coming to take her, setting her up in a sanitarium up the coast, but the bachelor son, a doctor of some sort, had roundly refused. They’d managed for a year and a half before the Sisters reached out to help them. Apparently, for all of his degrees and knowledge, the son was stymied by keeping a house. 

Jennifer was knocked out of her reverie by the noise of her cases hitting the ground.

“Henry! Help your Oncle Gustave with the luggage,” she called while sorting her long navy skirt and straightening her shawl over her starched white ponte blouse. A door opened, revealing a tall, lanky figure in the door. The sun shining brightly made it hard for Jennifer to make out anything but the fact that it was male. 

Steeling herself with strength she didn’t feel, Jennifer willed herself toward the door, thrusting her hand out in greeting. 

“Hello, I’m Jennifer LaMontagne. The sisters sent me to look after Mrs. Reid and the house.”

As her eyes adjusted, Jennifer was struck by the classical beauty of the man standing before her. He was over six feet tall, much taller than Will had been, with wild chestnut curls brushing the tops of his narrow shoulders. Her eyes would have stopped at his lips if they hadn’t been drawn to his narrow, elegant fingers, more like a pianist than a doctor’s, she thought. Those fingers were curled at the bottom of an emerald waistcoat, tugging it down where it didn’t quite meet his trousers.

In a flash, his hand was in hers, the grip cool, firm, and dry. 

“Mrs. LaMontagne, welcome. Sister Mary Constance spoke very highly of you. My mother and I are glad you’ve come,” he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

Jennifer appraised the wide expanse of his face; the high cheekbones that looked to be carved from the same granite peaks that thrust up out of the ocean. 

“It’s..it’s no trouble at all, Dr. Reid,” she said once she recovered her senses. “My son, Henry,” she said, flapping her hand behind her until her son gamboled over to hold her hand. “Henry and I look forward to caring for you and Mrs. Reid.” 

Henry looked up at the man, sizing him up with eyes identical to his father’s. “Sir, I don’t like tonics or medicines even if Mama says they make me better. I don’t want any,” he said with all the defiance of a four-year-old. Before Jennifer could apologize for his pert tongue, the sound of Dr. Reid’s laughter broke out. 

“I’m not a medical doctor, Henry. I study the natural world; humans, animals, and nature alike,” the doctor said. “I won’t force any tonics on you. I swear.” He bent at the waist and offered his hand for the boy to shake. Jennifer was sure if Henry’s eyes were any bigger, they’d fall out of his face. 

As Oncle Gustave brought her bags into the dooryard, Jennifer made her way in to meet her employer, Mrs. Reid. 

Mrs. Diana Reid was a tall woman, that Jennifer could see plainly, for all the woman was bundled up on a tattered settee. Jennifer noted with some surprise that the woman’s hair barely grazed the tops of her collarbones, which jutted out of a housecoat with all the fragility of a newborn bird. She removed her boating hat and hung it on a roughly hewn driftwood rack by the door as she turned to make her acquaintance. 

“Hello, Mrs. Reid. My name is Jennifer LaMontagne. The Sisters sent me, and my son Henry, to help care for you and your home. We are so grateful for your employment.”

Henry, bless him, remembered what they had rehearsed before setting off that morning. He bowed at the waist and thanked Mrs. Reid kindly, adding that he was pleased to meet her. Mrs. Reid hadn’t moved to acknowledge Jennifer when she spoke, but she smiled kindly at Henry. 

“Oh, you look just like Spencer did when he was a boy. Right down to that lovely flax colored hair,” the old woman said. “Yes. You look just like my boy. He’s gone off to study in Boston now. Do you keep to your studies? Mind your mother and learn your letters?” Her voice was deeper than Jennifer expected. It reminded her of woodsmoke. 

“Yes ma’am, I know my letters and Mama says she will teach me my sums this winter!” Henry crowed, basking in attention just like his father had. He didn’t seem to notice that the man Mrs. Reid was talking about was in the room with them. 

“Mother, I’m home now. I’m here, in Maine, with you,” Dr. Reid said quietly. Belatedly, Jennifer realized that Oncle Gustave was already in his buckboard and rattling back towards town. Perhaps he was worried she’d beg him to take her back to her mother’s house. He needn’t have worried, Jennifer thought crossly. It wasn’t as if she had a place in her mother’s home anymore. 

She turned her attention back to the scene before her: Dr. Reid sitting next to his mother warming one of her thin hands in his own larger ones. 

“Mrs. LaMontagne and her son will board with us and help us manage things. It’ll be such a relief for you, Mother. You know how you’re forever saying I’m hopeless with the housework,” he cajoled. 

“If the Seaver girl hadn’t run off and married the first lout on a riverboat she met, your father and I would manage just fine,” the old woman complained. “You know I don’t like strangers, Spencer.”

He shot her a pleading look, almost apologetic, before turning his attention back to his mother. “You know Father’s dead, Mother. You know he had apoplexy. And Mrs. LaMontagne is a much more experienced housekeeper than Miss Seaver…” he trailed off, and Jennifer had the distinct impression that he was looking for her to bail him out. 

“Yes, Mrs. Reid,” Jennifer chimed in. “I’m a quick study, and I’ll soon learn all your likes and dislikes when it comes to keeping a home... We’ll get along just fine, ma’am,” she said, smiling at Mrs. Reid, who fixed her gaze on Jennifer’s face suddenly. 

“You must be married, Mrs. LaMontagne. Where is your husband?” 

If anyone else had asked, Jennifer would have bristled. However, Diana Reid’s voice held no judgment, no projected shame, just honest curiosity. Jennifer could not begrudge her the answer. 

“I was, Mrs. Reid. My husband was a sailor on the Maine.” she said softly. “My son and I were obliged to move back to where I grew up.”

“Call me Diana,” the woman said plainly. 

“I’m sure that’s not necessary, Mrs. Reid. I’m your employee, it wouldn’t be proper,” Jennifer demurred, while secretly thrilling at the woman’s disregard for convention. 

“Nonsense. We are both widows with sons, making a go of it. I just can’t seem to be able to keep the damn house from falling to pieces,” Diana said crossly. Henry clapped his hands over his mouth and giggled, rarely hearing anyone swear, let alone a woman old enough to be his grandmother. 

“Fine, then. Diana it is. Now, I’d best get Henry and myself settled, but before that, why don’t I start some water for tea?” Jennifer inclined her head towards a bright room in the back of the house that she assumed was the kitchen. Dr. Reid nodded. 

“I’ll bring your bags up to the loft. Henry, would you like to see where you and your mother will be sleeping?” the doctor asked her son kindly. Bouncing like a puppy, Henry was clambering up a pine ladder leading to a landing that jutted halfway out above the living room. 

In the kitchen, Jennifer found a room well-appointed with windows and whitewashed plank floors and walls. The sink was a large ceramic affair, deep enough to fill buckets for washing without having to resort to a well. She noted good quality enamel cookware and a spacious ice chest, along with ample open shelves lining the walls. Jennifer found strong black tea in the larder, which was stocked well with dry goods. For all their tragic circumstances, the Reids clearly were not wanting for money. 

With the kettle boiling and the tea set to steeping in careworn mugs, Jennifer returned to the living room, which had, she could see, a double-sided hearth. Through a window, she could see a sizable outhouse a short distance from the back door. As she surveyed the living room, she noticed something she hadn’t before: the sheer volume of books and papers littering every surface. Diana herself was now lost in a book, her lips moving silently as she read. Jennifer could hear Henry giggling upstairs, and decided to rescue Dr. Reid from her energetic son. 

Jennifer ascended the ladder and looked around her new domain. A double iron bed with a truckle bed tucked beside it sat underneath a deep eave, both covered in warm-looking quilts. A window that stretched from the floor to the peaked ceiling divided the room in half, with a careworn armoire that had seen sturdier days in the other corner. Jennifer noted with pleasure a table with a kerosene lamp on it and two cane-backed chairs beside it. Dr. Reid and Henry were examining the contents of Henry’s satchel, with the doctor amusing the boy with sleight of hand tricks. 

“Well! I see you two are getting acquainted. Henry, come, I need you to collect some more firewood. And I’m sure Dr. Reid has better things to do besides show you magic tricks,” Jennifer said. 

“I’ll show you more after dinner, Henry, I promise,” the young man said with a kind smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He turned that smile on her as he descended back down the ladder, making Jennifer’s insides jump. 

Just as soon as her stomach had thrilled at Dr. Reid’s smile, Jennifer was wracked with guilt. William, hardly cold in his grave, surely deserved a wife who would better honor his memory and not lust after the first man she saw. 

“Henry, love, will you fetch some kindling from the woodpile?”

“Yes, mama,” her sweet boy lisped before clambering down the ladder with barely a care for the fact he was nine feet off the ground. Just like William, always leaping without looking. He’d thought nothing of enlisting in the Navy, having seen a need and selflessly moving to fill it. Jennifer remembered the rafter-shaking argument they’d had that night; she’d begged him and begged him to stay with her, safe on dry land. When he got his orders for the Maine, he’d brought her home a clutch of magnolia blossoms and wrapped her up in an embrace sweeter than flowers. Will had been so convinced they’d been smiled on by luck. 

“See, darlin’? The angels are watching over us. Why, they put me on the ship named for where my love was raised. You’ll see, cher,” Will’s voice echoed in her head like he was speaking right into her ear. Any moment he’d tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and she’d feel the prickle of his stubble raising gooseflesh on her neck. 

Jennifer heard Henry thump through the door and then a loud clatter. She spun around quickly and climbed back down the ladder, praying her boy hadn’t broken some scientific instrument or a family heirloom. 

As soon as her toes touched the knotted pine floor, she whirled around. 

“Henry!” She cried, but her reprimand died in her chest. Henry and the young doctor were peering at a stick of kindling. Dr. Reid’s lithe fingers were gracefully tracing a whorl in the rough wood, softly speaking to Henry. 

“You see, as the tree grows, imperfections form, and the wood must grow around it. Nature always finds a way, Henry, I think you’ll find. The laws of Nature are not as inscrutable as the laws of Man can be.” 

Jennifer surveyed the scene quietly, though she saw Dr. Reid mark her arrival with a flick of his heavy-lidded eyes. 

“What’s a scrutable, sir? Henry asked, looking up at his newfound teacher with wonder. 

“Inscrutable, darling. It means something is impossible to understand,” Jennifer said. 

Dr. Reid shot her another crinkly-eyed grin. “Your mother is correct, Henry. And please, both of you must call me Spencer. I insist.” 

Jennifer could see the same steely set to his mouth that Diana had. Spencer, she thought, turning the syllables over like a pebble in her mind. It was dignified and soft at the same time. Unbidden, her mind flashed to Will again. Will, willful William, will I am. Will, he was. Always so sure and so steadfast, until the day his last promise to her rang as empty as the coffin she’d seen buried in New Orleans. 

“Spencer,” she repeated, forcing herself to meet his gaze and focus on the present. “You have my thanks. Your care for my son is something I am grateful for, truly.” 

Spencer ruffled Henry’s hair without breaking eye contact with her. “I remember well how it is to be a curious young man. It should be a crime to stifle an inquisitive mind.”

Jennifer smiled at him and nodded in agreement. 

“Again, I am grateful,” she said, before inclining her head toward the kitchen in the back of the house. “I’d better see to the water for tea.”

Once the fires were banked in both the kitchen and the main room and the tea was finished, the new companions were discussing the Reids’ routine and general daily lives. 

“Spencer is usually wandering, either in the woods or down on the shore,” Diana said. “And I try to take the air every day. Although some days”, her mouth set in a grim line, “I find it a challenge to leave the settee.”

Spencer nodded in affirmation. “I don’t stray too far, anymore. I have a workshop a few hundred yards behind that stand of birches,” he said, indicating with long fingers the trees he mentioned. 

“I go to town every week,” he continued. “I take Celeste, our mare, and do our shopping and conduct necessary correspondence to keep our affairs in order” 

Jennifer could appreciate that they were a quiet, self-sufficient family, independent and practical. She could see her work would not be too taxing. 

“I confess I am not much of a cook,” Spencer said. “Domestic science is a skill that eludes me. And Mother and I fend for ourselves, more or less.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” Jennifer said. “I’ll teach Henry in the morning after chores are finished. And I have a mind to plant some carrots and cabbage to harvest before winter.”

The day passed agreeably enough, the two small families blending and settling. Jennifer had organized her and Henry’s belongings in their cozy loft and set her son to play in the yard. Spencer had retreated to his workshop and Diana remained curled cat-like on the couch, reading her book. When the clock on the mantle chimed 5, she began to get to know the kitchen in earnest. 

Jennifer pulled some thick bacon out of the larder and fetched some potatoes to peel and boil. She could see Henry playing from the large window and smiled to herself as she moved the knife over the rough potato skins. After lighting the flame under the pot with the potatoes, she wiped her hands on her sun-bleached apron and walked out the back door. 

“Henry, dear, will you help me pick dandelions for supper?” 

Henry turned around excitedly. He loved to feel his hands in the dirt, and Jennifer thought he’d have a knack for cultivation as he grew up. 

“Yes, mama!” He said excitedly. Jennifer showed him how to find the soft-lobed leaves, check for holes and rot, and how to pluck carefully so the weed would continue to grow. The shadows grew as the sun set below the trees in the distance, and Jennifer was startled to look up from where she and Henry were crouched to see Spencer leaning up against a birch tree, watching them. 

“Did you know that the word dandelion has French roots?” Spencer asked, cracking his knuckles. “Dents-de-lion”, he pronounced, entirely butchering the accent on the word. He looked shocked as Jennifer let out a guffaw of laughter she realized, belatedly, was rather unladylike. 

“Dahn-deh-lyon”, she corrected him, still chuckling. 

“Well. My French was always rudimentary at best. I can certainly read it with fluency, that is. I can’t quite master the dropped vowel sounds,” Spencer explained, trailing off. “It does mean lion’s teeth, though, Henry. See the way the leaves are shaped? They’re spiked, like a carnivore’s canine teeth.”

Jennifer could see Henry’s confusion at the doctor’s explanation. She tapped one of her eyeteeth with her fingernail and winked at her son. 

“Let’s take our lion’s teeth inside, so we can have them with our supper,” Jennifer prompted, dusting the bits of dirt and wet grass that stuck to her apron. 

After a meal of bacon, boiled potatoes with butter, and dandelion greens with vinegar and salt, Jennifer served another pot of tea as Spencer and Diana retired to the parlor. Just as she’d thought she could corral Henry up into the loft for bed, he’d appeared with their battered copy of the Odyssey and placed it in her lap. 

“Please, mama, may we read some more of Odysseus?” Her child questioned plaintively. 

“Oh, Henry, perhaps another time--,” she answered, before being cut off by Spencer. 

“Did you know there are historians and linguists who say modern translations are entirely sanitized and don’t accurately reflect the nature of the relationship between Greek men and their peers? It’s been said that the degree of intimacy is vastly understated and it’s been proven that the Greeks engaged in--,” Spencer rambled, before it was Jennifer’s turn to cut him off, standing up rather abruptly as she began to grasp what he was alluding to. Of course, she was a sailor’s wife, she knew exactly how men would keep each other company and give comfort confined on a ship, but that didn’t mean her son needed to know the immediate details. 

“My thanks, Dr. Reid,” she said quickly. “But I fear Henry and I simply can’t take any more excitement for the day. I’ll settle him to bed and see you and Mrs. Reid into bed as well.”

“Nonsense,” Diana said with crotchety authority. “I’ve no need for a maidservant, just a housekeeper. I’ve been putting myself to bed for the better part of this century, girl. Get your son to sleep and take some rest yourself.”

Jennifer could see that she’d have to walk a fine line not to upset this woman’s fragile sense of independence and self-reliance, even as she noticed Spencer’s eyes flicking nervously between the two women. 

“Of course, Diana,” she said simply. “At least allow me to light your lamp so you don’t fall in the dark.”

At this, the older woman nodded her assent and continued reading. Jennifer patted Henry’s soft head as she passed him, going into the back hallway which housed the bedrooms. Diana’s room was filled with ephemera, cluttering every surface with baubles, newspaper, and sheathes of writing paper. As Jennifer struck a match to light the kerosene, she caught a glimpse of movement reflected in the brass of the lantern. Startled, she whirled around. She had to blink rapidly to clear the sting of the sulfurous smoke in her eyes. Spots danced in her vision and she gasped, unsteady on her feet. Jennifer reached out her hand to grab onto the bedpost for balance as a man’s body took shape in front of her and her fingers touched cloth instead of wood. 

Spencer leaped back as if he’d had an electric shock at her touch. 

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. He reminded her of Henry, with his big eyes contrite. 

“It’s alright,” she breathed, placing her hand on her wildly beating heart. “I’m just jumpy in new surroundings. I usually don’t scare easy.” 

He was studying her now. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” he mused. “Here. Allow me,” he said and produced a flame with a snap of his long fingers. 

This time, Jennifer didn’t try to stifle her shock.

“How on earth!” She cried, watching incredulously as he lit the wick and replaced the glass globe. 

Grinning, he rotated her hand so she could see the long wooden match sticking out of his shirt cuff. 

“The friction my fingers make when I snap them, close enough to the match head, will ignite it. It’s just science. And a bit of magic. Science magic,” he finished succinctly. 

Jennifer continued to eye him warily. “You are certainly unlike any doctor I’ve met before, Dr. Reid.”

“Spencer,” was the plaintive reply. “I asked you to call me Spencer.” 

The shadows cast by the lamp made the hollows under his eyes deep enough for her to drown in. Jennifer searched for a word to describe the heady rush she felt. Frisson, she thought, knowing her eyes were still locked on his. 

“Spencer,” she said softly. He closed his eyes at this and a look that Jennifer couldn’t quite place flashed over his visage. As soon as she’d noticed it, though, his eyes were open and he was looking at her again. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry and tight around feelings she must stifle. 

A benevolent God must exist, for Spencer broke their gaze and stepped aside to let her pass. Jennifer took the opportunity gratefully and beat her retreat. She found Henry carefully untangling a skein of yarn for Diana, who watched him with fond eyes. 

“Time for bed, darling,” she said to her boy. He rose obediently and gave Diana back her yarn. 

“Say goodnight, Henry,” she prompted and was pleased by her son’s response. As Jennifer ascended the ladder behind him, she could feel Spencer’s eyes watching them. Finally able to climb into the loft, Jennifer scrambled quickly out of sight from the main room. She felt discomfited, not because of Spencer’s eyes on her, but her body’s response to his gaze. Her traitorous body that refused to allow her to sink back into her comfortable numbness. 

As she lit the lamp on the table, she could hear Henry climbing onto the ancient bed, so old that the mattress rested on creaking ropes. Jennifer began performing the necessary ablutions and readying them for sleep. At long last, she sat on the bed in her linen shift, unadorned except for the intricate geometric embroideries she’d worked on the sleeves. Henry was snuggled into her side, in his clean white nightshirt, fiddling with the ends of her hair as she unwound it from its simple chignon and twined it into a braid. 

The two settled into the bed together. Jennifer hadn’t for a moment thought to put Henry to sleep in the truckle bed. She couldn’t imagine sleeping alone for the first night in this new place, without her son to keep her grounded. Relenting, she began reading from the Odyssey, allowing Henry and herself to float away into dreams of antiquity.


	2. Suscita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suscita, Latin: "she awakens"

Years of habit awoke Jennifer as the first rays of the sun crested over the horizon. Will had always teased her about her early bird ways, but she hadn’t minded. Looking back, she wished she’d known to cherish every last second they’d shared, every last embrace, every last instant together. She took a deep breath and stretched her sleepy legs, taking care not to wake Henry up. 

She dressed for the morning in her green madras house dress over a shift and bloomers and washed her face in the cold water left in the basin from the night before. Jennifer pinned her braid at the nape of her neck and tied her apron securely around her waist, ready to face the day. She knew she’d better get out of the loft before she had more time to dwell on her thoughts from the night before. And besides, she was hoping against hope that neither Spencer nor Diana were as early risers as she. 

Her luck continued as she made her way out of the kitchen door and towards the small shed that served as a stable for Celeste the mare and a few speckled chickens. Jennifer was glad to be able to collect eggs and scatter corn, relishing the simple pleasures of the fresh sea air and the company of animals. She gave Celeste’s nose a friendly scratch and bundled up the eggs in her apron, clutching it into a sling to carry them back to the kitchen. 

As soon as she entered the kitchen, however, her luck ran out. At the very least, she hadn’t been surprised half out of her wits again, but there sat Spencer at the table, nursing an enameled cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” he said. A soft smile hid at the corner of his lips as he sipped his coffee. “It appears the chickens like you far more than they like me,” he said, nodding toward her armful of eggs. 

“Oh? Is that so?” Jennifer queried as she deposited the eggs in a bowl. She took the opportunity to strike a fire in the stove burner and get a pan heating. 

“They used to peck me. Now, they just chase me whenever they see me.”

Jennifer could hear an indignant twinge to his voice. She smiled at the mental picture of Spencer being chased by a flock of chickens. 

“Well, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you,” she teased him. At this, he glanced up at her with a quick grin that again caused her insides to twist. 

Jennifer set about making ployes and frying up a good amount of eggs and bacon. She found a seemingly endless supply of maple syrup bottled in mismatched containers in the larder, along with preserves and cheese wrapped in waxed paper. Having arranged all of this on the table, she managed to lay out a respectable breakfast for the four of them without getting sidetracked by Spencer. Jennifer found that though she still felt his strangely intense presence, she wasn’t as affected by him as she’d been the night before. Being with him in the quiet early morning light, with the smell of food in the air, felt companionable. She’d been so alone for so long, she mused, it was like she’d forgotten how to be in the presence of another person. 

She’d mentioned that it was time for her to rouse Henry and Spencer explained that Diana didn’t often get out of bed until the afternoon. Jennifer frowned, chewing her lower lip. Of course, she was just the housekeeper. She wasn’t family and had no training in these matters at all, but she couldn’t help thinking what a sad reality Diana must live in. Before she got a chance to say anything presumptuously, Henry entered the room in a burst of activity and untucked shirt-tails. 

Jennifer hoisted the child in the air and hugged him close to her before settling him on her hip. Far too soon he’d be too grown to be held by his mama, and already he was wriggling with impatience. 

“Down, mama!” Henry cried once he spied the ployes and syrup, one of his favorite meals. She laughed and let him loose, glad for the simple happiness of the moment. Absently, she tucked a napkin into his collar and filled a large basin for dishes. 

“These are delicious, Jennifer,” Spencer said. His plate looked as if it had been wiped clean. “I wasn’t joking when I said I couldn’t cook to save my life.”

She smiled at the praise. “I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself. I love to cook, really.”

“Mama makes the best breakfast,” Henry agreed. He was smeared in syrup and grinning mightily. 

“Oh, I think I agree with you!” Spencer chuckled.

Jennifer noticed the contrast between the white of his teeth and the dusky color of his lips and quickly busied herself with the dishes. The heat of the water and the soap suds were well within her control, unlike the majority of her unbidden thoughts. She tried to lose herself in the rhythm of scrubbing and rinsing and managed to succeed until a long shadow fell on the water and she felt Spencer’s presence next to her. Wordlessly, she watched him dip his plate in the water and reach toward her left hand. Jennifer had to bend her neck back farther than she expected to look up at him. He smiled down at her and plucked the dishrag from her hand. 

“I may not be able to cook for myself, but I can certainly wash a dish,” he said. The brush of his fingers over her knuckles made her jerk her hand back quickly. 

“Be that as it may, I’m your housekeeper,” Jennifer reminded him, though she didn’t trust herself to grab the dishrag back from him. She’d never be able to stick to boundaries if she didn’t set them in the first place. Steeling herself, she took the dish from Spencer’s hand and dipped it in the rinsing bucket. Still smiling, he let her. 

“I’ll be in my workshop for a while,” he commented. “I have some new specimens to look over. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to come to find me. I’m at your disposal.”

“I thank you,” Jennifer replied, smiling back at him. 

She dedicated herself to tidying up the kitchen in earnest, and then set a pan of milk to clabbering. Next, she rolled out a pie crust, thinking to use some of the preserves she’d found in the larder. The Reids’ kitchen was wonderfully well-stocked, but there would be plenty of room for her to organize it to her liking. She even found ground cinnamon hiding in the back of the larder. 

With her pie in the oven, Jennifer went out into the yard dragging a huge copper pot that she’d found leaning just inside the cellar door. She thought she’d get a big load of laundry going and take advantage of the bright and sunny day to air all the linens in the house out. Jennifer espied Henry intently digging a hole at the base of a tree and got him to agree to help her carry buckets of water for the laundry by making it into a game to see who could carry the most without spilling. Finally, splashed with water and laughing hard enough to make her sides hurt, Jennifer lit the fire under the basin and fetched Henry’s slate and a nub of chalk from one of her satchels in the loft. It was a beautiful day, and she saw no reason for the boy to be cooped up inside while he worked at his letters. 

His penmanship was improving as he gained better coordination in his hands, and she was pleased she hadn’t mucked anything up so far. Before she met Will, she’d harbored a desire to be a teacher and had even studied for the state regent’s exam. How different would her life be if she’d never left Biddeford at all? She knew, whatever the difference would be, nothing would make her trade Will or Henry, not all the gold in Fort Knox. 

Leaving Henry to copy sentences she’d written out, Jennifer went in search of lye for the laundry. While inside, she took the pie out of the oven to cool on a trivet and went to check on Diana, who still wasn’t awake. Again, Jennifer ignored the impulse to wake the woman and at least get her some sunlight and fresh air. And as hard as she searched, she could not find lye anywhere. She realized she was going to have to interrupt Spencer in his workshop. Trying to stall, she strained the clobbered milk and tied off the cheesecloth. They’d be able to eat it on toast or with potatoes soon. Jennifer thought she’d try to find some wild herbs to flavor it with. There was little more she could do to forestall going out to the workshop, she told herself. It was better just to have it done with. 

The path to the workshop was well worn, and she imagined all the back-and-forth trips Spencer made over the years. Large windows of good-quality glass marked the eastern exposure of the structure, which was a mere hundred yards from a drop off down to the shore. They were propped open to catch the breeze off the water, and the rough-hewn door was slightly ajar. Jennifer pushed it open and walked into the space. Spencer was facing away from her, leaning over a waist-high counter and fiddling with a microscope with one dextrous hand. While he was peering through the eyepiece, his other hand was scribbling on an open composition book. 

Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat softly. She didn’t want to startle him. Spencer turned around and broke into a smile upon seeing her. 

“Hello,” he said, his voice friendly. 

“Hi,” Jennifer said after a few beats. She’d been busy noticing that he had dimples when he smiled. Inwardly, she cursed her awkwardness. “Um. The lye. I need it for the laundry and I think I’ve looked the whole house up and down and I can’t find it,” she explained. 

Spencer blinked owlishly at her. “You know, I don’t know that we have lye. I used to send our clothes out to be laundered,” he said sheepishly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. 

“Oh,” Jennifer said dumbly, unsure of what she’d do without it. Maybe she could chop up a block of soap and dilute it somehow?

“But I can make some!” Spencer exclaimed. “That is, I know the chemical formula and I think I have all that I need to make it.”

Jennifer smiled at him, full of wonder. “Oh, really? That’s..oh, that’s something I hadn’t thought of!”

“Well, lye is essentially an alkaline mixture, and when you combine wood ash, sodium bicarbonate, and water, you get a substance you can strain and use the liquid as lye,” he explained in a rush. “I can show you how to make it but it’s caustic and your skin is so soft,” he said before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to hurt you. For you to get hurt,” he trailed off, not meeting her eyes anymore. 

Well, at least she wasn’t alone, Jennifer thought. She wasn’t some pure virginal church girl who didn’t know a man’s interest when it fell on her. The only other time in her life she’d felt like this was with Will, and the books were closed on that chapter. However, the fact of the matter still stood that she was employed by Spencer. And she hardly knew him, she reminded herself, no matter the familiarity she felt when she was in his presence. 

“Show me how,” she said instead, and was amazed as before her eyes, Spencer’s demeanor instantly changed. He was now confident and sure in his movements, his face intense and brow furrowed. His fingers moved deftly as they combined ingredients and the low timbre of his voice held a note of authority that settled somewhere deep in Jennifer’s stomach. 

Spencer held a bowl full of cloudy liquid in his hands before her. “I think, if you mixed this with enough water, it would be diluted enough for you to use for the laundry,” he said. She focused her eyes on his Adam's apple as it bobbed in his throat for a half-second too long, and her fingertips touched his. 

“Thank you,” she said, tugging the vessel gently out of his hands. “I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for you.” At this, Spencer grinned broadly. 

“I am very glad to be at your service,” he said. Jennifer took this as her cue to flee the workshop and lose herself in the hot steam of the laundry pot.

She dragged all the quilts off the beds and took the sheets off the ticking. Jennifer was pleased to see Diana was on the couch reading. The two acknowledged each other and Jennifer was happy that she wasn’t the hovering type. Henry had found his way into the room and was playing happily with two toy soldiers near the unlit hearth. The two seemed very comfortable in each other's company. She even decided to pull the faded sprigged curtains down and wash them along with the other linens. Once everything was boiling away and she’d teased Henry about feeding him laundry soup for supper, she had him beat the rugs with a stick to get the dust out, which amused him greatly. 

The rest of the afternoon was filled with domestic tasks, and although Jennifer was soaked in sweat and laundry water that had splashed all over her she felt satisfied and accomplished. Spencer hadn’t emerged from his workshop all afternoon. She’d strung multiple clotheslines between trees and from the eaves of the house and the fabric was flapping in the wind, the noise like the beating wings of a flock of gulls. Jennifer decided that she’d head down to the shore and see if she could scout out any beds of clams for her and Henry to harvest from, and she knew a dip in the water couldn’t make things any worse. It would feel good to rinse off, at least. 

Toeing her black shoes off and stripping her stockings down from her thighs, Jennifer left them on the grassy edge of the outcropping as she clambered down the slope toward the water. Walking on the damp sand and feeling it squish between her toes reminded her of when she was a child with her father at the shore. Even though her whole family had been there, it had felt like it was a time especially for her and her father as she helped him seek out the clams and mussels that they’d dump into a seaweed-lined hole he’d dug. They’d pile it high with their seafood bounty and wait for it to steam before feasting with their hands, without a thought to manners. It was one of her fondest memories. 

Before too long, she’d found a few promising patches and dug some clams out with her hands. As she straightened up, Jennifer stretched her arms out wide and above her head, enjoying the feeling of the sun and wind on her skin. She looked at the water, then down at her ankle-length dress, and then around the cove to see if there was anyone with a direct view of the water. Satisfied that the only way someone could come upon her without her noticing was if they’d come over the water, she unbuttoned her dress and shoved it under a rock so it wouldn’t blow away. Her shift flapped in the wind as she made her way toward the water, getting up to her thighs before she dove under the waves. 

Jennifer swam a few strokes under the water before popping her head over the surface and breathing in deeply. She pushed off the bottom and floated on her back, relishing the feeling of the water flowing over her skin. She floated there, bobbing like a cork on the waves until she feared she’d lost track of time staring at the cloudless blue sky above her and losing herself in memories of Will. As she trudged out of the wave with her white shift and bloomers plastered to her body, a flash of movement on the ridge by the house caught her eye. She knew she had a good eye for detail, but it felt much easier to deny the fact that the sun glinting off Spencer’s pocket watch and the movement of his hair as he whipped around and walked very quickly back to his workshop. 

At least, that’s what Jennifer told herself as she realized that every curve and shadow of her body were visible in the wet fabric. With shaking fingers, she pulled her dress on and made her way back to the cottage, praying that she wouldn’t run into Spencer on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for letting me explore this. Thanks for reading!


	3. Decidit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decidit; Latin, she decides. 
> 
> -
> 
> Cognitive dissonance: the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, especially as relating to behavioral decisions and attitude change.

After her near brush with what promised to be a painfully awkward encounter, Jennifer made her mind up to act with nothing but the utmost propriety around Spencer. She was determined she wouldn’t encourage anything beyond the platonic between them. Fortunately, he seemed inclined to lock himself up in the workshop until the lamps had to be lit. Jennifer had to send Henry out to fetch him for supper after he’d pulled down all the washing from the lines. She’d fried up ham steaks and gravy with cornbread drizzled in syrup. 

When he entered the kitchen followed by Henry, Spencer seemed utterly intent upon not meeting her eyes. Jennifer busied herself serving the foursome’s plates, piling them high with food and making sure everyone had milk in the jars they were using for glasses. She feared the conversation would be stilted, and knew if Diana didn’t mention anything, Henry certainly would. But again, Spencer surprised her. He spent the meal regaling Henry with stories about studying zoology and the unique shorebirds he could find the nests of if he really tried. Jennifer found herself drawn into his stories. She couldn’t fathom the way his mind worked, the connections he was able to draw between the most seemingly dissimilar concepts, his encyclopedic command of facts. His intellect dazzled her and found herself and Henry at the table still listening to him even as Diana had retired to her settee and the pie plates held nothing but crumbs.

“Spencer!” Diana called from the other room. “You’re going to talk that poor woman’s ear off. If you’ve a mind to chatter, come read Chaucer to me.”

He gave a half-smile and spread his hands as if to say ‘what can you do?’ before rising with a handful of dishes. 

“I’ll be right there, Mother,” he said, “Let me just assist Jennifer with the dishes.” 

Now, this she knew she must address right away. 

“I thought I told you earlier. I do the dishes,” she chided him. 

Spencer shook his head at her. “And I distinctly remember telling you I could wash a dish,” he rejoined. 

“There’s a difference between could and will, Spencer,” she mused, breezing by him and whisking the dishes out of his grasp before he could protest further. 

“Well, I guess I know when I’m defeated,” he replied. 

“Mama, may I listen?” Henry asked, tugging at the corner of her sleeve. She brushed the crumbs off his face with her apron and smiled down at him. 

“Of course, my dear. Wash your hands and you may sit quietly and not interrupt your elders.”

Henry happily followed Spencer into the living room and plopped down on the floor, looking up at the man eagerly. Jennifer herself enjoyed hearing his mellifluous voice waver in and out of her hearing as she cleaned up the kitchen and put a kettle on for tea. 

With the clock striking ten, Jennifer leaned on the door jamb with a mug of tea in her hands. She drank it scalding hot, even in the dead of summer. Will had always teased her about it, saying he could warm her up far better than any drink could before he’d make good on his word and set the blood in her veins to boiling with his touch. 

Henry had made his way over to Diana’s settee, where he was leaned up against her right calf, dozing on her knee as she carded her fingers absently through his hair. Spencer was still reading from his leatherbound copy of The Canterbury Tales, but he stopped when he heard her shift her weight against the door. 

“I never tire of hearing Spencer read,” Diana said. “And your son is a delightful child, I must confess.”

Jennifer smiled brightly at this praise. “He’s my treasure. He’s all I have,” she said softly, glancing at her boy. 

“Yes. I know that feeling well. That’s why I never had any more children after him. Why mess with perfection?” 

At this, Spencer turned beet red and shut the book with a clap. 

“I think I’ll just make sure all the windows in my workshop are closed before I retire,” he said, striding out of the room. Diana rolled her eyes at his back and gave Jennifer a sly side smile. 

Realizing there was no way she could get a sleeping Henry up the ladder, Jennifer woke him and sent him up to the loft first as she banked the fire and checked off her nightly routine: the gas was turned down on the stove, the curtains drawn, and the door shut securely. She could see a lamp burning in the corner of the workshop she could see from the kitchen, and a shadow moving, like someone was pacing. With a sigh, she made her way to the front of the house and climbed the ladder into the loft herself. 

Henry was asleep in his clothes on her bed, but she was able to undress him and get a nightshirt and knickers on him without him waking up. As she brushed out her long blonde hair, it was still damp with saltwater, reminding her of her dip in the ocean earlier. Had Spencer been looking for her? How long had he been standing there, watching her? And why had he run away so quickly? She thought it was unlikely he was frightened or embarrassed, and thought he must have been shocked or repulsed by how low and common she’d acted. The Reids were a good family, after all. She was supposed to be from a good family and know better than to parade essentially naked in front of men that weren’t her husband. 

After she blew out her lamp and crawled into bed with Henry, she found she couldn’t sleep although she could feel the rhythm of the ocean waves rocking in her bones. She longed to drift away into sleep again, where she wouldn’t have to think so cursed much. Instead, she tossed and turned as much as she dared without jostling Henry and thought of the doctor pacing back and forth out in his workshop. Was he thinking about how disgraceful she was? 

At some point, she must have drifted off to sleep, for she awoke in the morning at her customary time and she could hear movement downstairs. Staring up at the rafters, Jennifer steeled herself for another maddening day trying not to embarrass herself or insult Will’s memory with her wanton thoughts. 

Early morning responsibilities came first, of course, and she found Spencer in the kitchen before her a second day in a row. This time, he did meet her eyes and murmured a greeting to her. 

“Good morning,” she ventured, sounding more confident than she felt by a country mile. “I hope you slept well?” 

Spencer grimaced and shook his head. “No, in fact. Too many dreams.”

Jennifer knew all about too many dreams. There were times she wasn’t sure if it hurt more to see Will in her sleep and wake up without him next to her, or to never see him again. 

“I hope coffee helps,” she said, refilling his mug. He gave her a wan smile and she had the distinct urge to ruffle his hair. She chose instead to start mixing up johnnycakes and let the batter rest while she collected the eggs from their small flock. 

Outside, she was rewarded by a sunrise resplendent in bright pinks and oranges. It took her breath away and she lost some moments staring and admiring. 

Once the eggs were gathered and hard-boiled, she began proofing dough for bread and generally busied herself quite thoroughly. So thoroughly, in fact, she hadn’t noticed Spencer’s departure. He’d taken his coffee mug and disappeared. She was definitely not even the slightest bit put out that he hadn’t said anything, not at all. Again, she dove under the waves in her mind and submerged herself in her tasks: soaking, kneading, sweeping, and polishing the flatware. She knew there were women who would say she was denying her true potential to limit herself to the domestic arena. However, Jennifer also knew that without someone caring about a household, it fell apart. She had a deep sense of pride in her life’s work. And God knew the work wasn’t easy all the time. Jennifer had seen many things. She knew how the yard looked when a barn cat ate her litter of kittens. She’d slaughtered her fair share of animals, she’d helped birthed several more. She knew the way the air in a household would fall still and stale when it’s inhabitants were ill, and what cholera smelled like. How would those fine women in their parlors discussing political strategy fare when a horse trampled its rider or rot took the whole harvest? 

Yes, Jennifer felt she’d seen so many facets of life others often forgot about. It was true she often got lost in her thoughts pondering them. It was the constant complaint her mother hurled at her. Though she didn’t know them well, she felt Diana and Spencer would understand. As far as she could tell, they were neither reclusive nor mad. They were simply people who kept to their own devices and didn’t stand on pretense. Regardless of her confusing feelings toward Spencer, she knew she liked him as a person. He was kind to her son, helpful, courteous, enthralling...breathtakingly handsome, the traitorous voice in her head reminded her. 

But never mind all that. There were chickens to feed and a pile of horse manure to shovel. And she still had to set Henry to his lessons as well. Jennifer wiped her hand across the sweat beading on her brow. There was certainly no rest for the weary. 

The day passed, the afternoon bright with a slight breeze. Henry had fussed endlessly when she’d sat him down with his letterbook and slate. She’d been so frustrated that she’d given up. There were plenty more days for learning letters, and her son could be as stubborn as his father when he’d made his mind up to do, or not do, something. Happily, he agreed to go berry picking with her, and they passed two hours scouting out the fattest blushing blueberries in rocky, sunlight patches. 

As they picked (and ate), Jennifer told Henry the story about how she’d met Will. She knew it was important that he had some notion of his father. Will had visited Biddeford with his father, a wealthy wool magnate from New Orleans who had come into a controlling interest in one of the mills. Back then, her father was still hale and healthy and had been elected to give the visiting business a tour of the premises. If her father hadn’t forgotten his lunch pail that day, perhaps Jennifer would have never met Will. But he had, and she’d walked up Hill Street to deliver him his meat, bread, cheese, and a corked stone jug of switchel. She found she couldn’t remember the exact moment she’d seen him, but she knew she was lost when he bowed low over her hand and kissed it. 

They’d ceased picking now and had made their way back to the familiar shade of the birch tree in the yard. Sitting below its bright green foliage, Jennifer continued to recount her love story to Henry. He’d courted her endlessly, from that night on until he left on a train south three weeks later. That very night, he’d called on her at her family home with an armful of Queen Anne’s Lace he’d impulsively digged up by the tracks. They’d go on walks daily, strolling up and down Main Street until Jennifer’s mother had caught wind of it and put a stop to it. 

“For shame! You’d think you had no better an upbringing than a common whore,” the older woman hissed in Quebecois. Jennifer had flushed with shame and spent a sleepless night in the room she shared with her sisters tossing and turning, burning with the knowledge that she’d never be able to give him up. The very next night after spending a day pining for him, she crept out of her house under the cover of darkness and met him behind the old pump house by the shore of the river. 

“We can’t see each other anymore,” Jennifer had breathed into Will’s neck as he covered her face with kisses. “My mother forbids it.”

“Oh, cher,” he’d groaned into her hair. “I’ll die without you, I swear I will.” They were clutching each other close, hands wrapped in the fabric covering their backs. “I don’t care who knows it. I love you, Genevieve Jareau.”

For Henry’s sake, she’d left out what happened next. Their embrace had grown bolder, more frantic, and before she knew what was happening she’d crossed a bridge she couldn’t walk back over. Will proposed to her that night as they lay there in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Despite the rough environs, he’d been so gentle and sweet with her. There was no going back, she knew. Not for her. 

“What happened next, Mama?” Henry asked in his little boy’s voice. She snuggled him closer and kept on with the story. She did not notice Spencer watching her, listening from the open window in his workshop. 

Jennifer told Henry of the frantic days that followed. She’d intended to have Will over to her family home so that he could plead his case to her father. Jennifer knew her father was softer in matters of the heart than her mother, and she felt he’d be on their side. Luck, however, was not on their side. Apparently, one of their neighbors had seen her and Will locked in an embrace before Jennifer climbed back into her house and Will walked off towards his hotel and told her mother. Mrs. Jareau backhanded Jennifer so hard she’d crashed into the table. At that moment, it was as if something inside of her snapped. Jennifer picked herself up off the kitchen floor and walked out of her mother’s home with nothing but the clothing on her back and her dead sister’s necklace around her neck. She marched straight to Will’s hotel and told him what had happened. To this day, she could remember the way his eyes hardened as he’d wiped a smear of blood and spit off her cheek. 

Looking down, she noticed Henry had fallen asleep with his thumb in his mouth while she’d been talking. Suddenly a shadow fell over her legs. Jennifer shielded her eyes from the sun and realized it was Spencer standing over her. She couldn’t decipher the look on his face. 

“She shouldn’t have hit you,” he said mournfully. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jennifer replied. “And far crueler things exist in the world, you know.”

Spencer was still gazing at her intently. “You must have loved your husband very much. He took you away, didn’t he?”

Jennifer nodded, fighting back unexpected tears that stung her eyes. 

“He did,” was all she managed to say. 

Spencer smiled wanly at her. “You’re very lucky. I imagine the man loved by you was even luckier.”

Jennifer didn’t know what to say to that. The moment was charged by some strange energy. She was desperately clinging to her resolution to keep him at arms’ length. She tried to conjure Will’s face in her mind’s eye, willing herself to stay strong in the face of Spencer’s quiet intensity. 

“I didn’t mean to be improper,” he demurred. “I just meant that you’re a very remarkable woman. And that any man would be envious of the person you share your heart with.” At that, he turned on his heel and walked away back toward his workshop. All Jennifer could do was stare at his retreating back, blinking dumbly. 

If she wasn’t mistaken, and she was sure she wasn’t, Spencer had just admitted something akin to attraction to her. And he’d heard her talking to Henry, for how long she couldn’t be certain, but enough to hear about Will. Will! What was she thinking? Jennifer’s stomach churned with guilt and the tears she’d been holding back flowed freely down her cheeks. Her mother had been right. She was no better than a tavern whore, but at least whores were bought by money and not a pretty face and kind words. How did she end up so foolish! She breathed deeply, staring up through the birch leaves at the bright blue sky, trying to calm herself. What a mess! This whole situation was a mess, and she knew it. Leave it to her to take a wonderful opportunity and ruin it with her impetuous heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for letting me share this. Y'all are very kind and I am thankful for each of you!


	4. Suspiria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Suspiria** : Latin, breathlessness.

The two days before Sunday dragged on indeterminately, Jennifer thought. Spencer had been treating her with the absolute utmost courtesy, but she couldn’t help but feel that he now was trying to hold her at arm's length. Even though she knew this was probably for the best, Jennifer couldn’t help but feel a tiny twinge of loss. 

Diana, however, had warmed up to her considerably in the past couple of days. Jennifer found the older woman to be refreshingly pleasant company. She had a dry wit and a keen sense of the world. Jennifer enjoyed her frank conversation and small observations. It was also apparent how deeply Diana cared for her son. She held him on an impossibly high pedestal, but Jennifer was sure that he merited such elevation. 

It was Sunday, though, and a perfect opportunity for her to unburden her soul. A Catholic from the cradle, Jennifer had only abandoned celebrating Mass in the dark weeks after Will’s death. She knew she was a sinner, but also knew the sweet grace that washed over her when she remembered God the Father, Jesus, Mary, and all the angels and saints that watched over her. She let Henry stay slumbering in the rumpled sheets as she dressed with more care than usual. In her bloomers, stockings, and shift, she pondered her admittedly limited wardrobe. Finally, she settled on a silk faille the exact shade of blue as a robin's tail, a cream-colored batiste waist with silk-covered buttons, and a frilly lace yoke in a soft white lawn. Fastening the yoke with a simple brass broach, she smoothed her hands down the fabric and tucked a handkerchief in her sleeve, knowing Henry would surely get into something by the time they returned from Mass. 

Jennifer turned her attention to the small mirror hanging on a nail by the armoire. After braiding her thick yellow hair into a demure bun, she securely pinned a smart hat in a deep mahogany color to her head. It was time to get Henry ready now, she noted as she fetched his best suit: a hand-me-down, although well-mended. She shook him awake gently, kissing his soft blond curls as he yawned and squirmed. 

“It’s Sunday, sweetheart. Time to get dressed for church,” she said. Henry always loved going to Mass. He was enamored with the stained glass windows, the soaring vaulted ceiling, and most especially, the organ. Jennifer fervently wished she could afford to encourage his love of music, as it was the one thing she felt Henry had inherited from her. So much of him was a spitting image of Will, but not this. Will couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, she remembered with a smile, and Jennifer had been playing the piano since she was a child younger than Henry was. 

Excitedly, the child bounced out of bed and began pulling his clothes on with wild abandonment. 

“Careful, Henry!” She chuckled, stilling his hands. “You’ll tear the buttons and I’m not sure how many more times I can mend the buttonholes!” Surprisingly, he allowed her to continue, containing his excitement enough to just bounce up and down on the balls of his feet. 

“There! All done,” she said, smiling at her boy. “You look very handsome. Now, let’s have a quick bite before we ask Spencer to drop us at St. Brendan’s.” 

Off like a shot, Henry was down the ladder and in the larder before Jennifer was halfway to the living room. 

“Henry! Nothing messy!” She called, draping her shawl across her shoulders in the entryway. Jennifer personally didn’t like to eat before receiving the Host, but Henry hadn’t yet his First Communion, and he wouldn’t last long on an empty stomach. She had her back to the rest of the house when a crash and a muffled yelp surprised her. Jennifer whirled around to see Spencer with a strange expression on his face, somewhere between pain and revelation. He was hopping on one foot, apparently having collided with an end table. 

“Good morning, Spencer. Are you alright?” She asked pleasantly. He didn’t answer her, just continued to stare, his mouth slightly open. She waited a moment to see if he would respond. When he didn’t, Jennifer forged ahead. 

“Would you mind terribly dropping me and Henry off at St. Brendan’s on your way into town? If you won’t be long in town, we can certainly walk home, it’s just-“ 

Spencer cut her off suddenly. “Yes! I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind at all. And of course, I will bring you home, you’re too pretty to walk.” At this, his face contorted in the strangest way she’d ever seen and he practically ran from the room. Any doubts she’d harbored about his feelings for her have swept away. Spencer was clearly as disarmed by her as she was by him. 

Jennifer busied herself with supervising Henry’s quick breakfast of cheese and a thick slice of ham, then helping him wash his hands and face. She bustled him out the front door and into the circle where Spencer had hitched Celeste to a plain but serviceable buckboard, painted a chipped and weather-worn blue. He was assiduously avoiding her eyes, although he did lift Henry into the seat before offering her his hand. Jennifer had the grace to pretend not to notice how it trembled under her fingertips. 

Though it was barely over a mile to St. Brendan’s, Jennifer felt the time stretch out endlessly before her. Unburdened by the charged silence between his mother and Dr. Reid, Henry happily chatted about this and that, pleased to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. 

Finally, they rounded a corner and Jennifer could see the spire of the chapel peeking above the trees. She breathed a sigh of relief. If she had any doubt about her need to confess before hearing Mass and taking Communion, it had long fled her mind. Jennifer was fairly certain the lustful thoughts inside of her would burst into flames if she partook unshriven. As they drew closer to the building Jennifer was watching Spencer from the corners of her eyes. She could see how tight his grip on Celeste’s reins was and the hard set of his jaw, like he was holding something back. She wanted to say something, anything, to break their silence, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of what to say. Helplessly, she waited and listened absently to Henry, but didn’t really hear him. 

They pulled up into the half-circle drive in front of St. Brendan’s with the other buckboards, wagons, and broughams that carried the parishioners. Spencer chuffed softly at Celeste and pulled her to a stop. He first helped Henry down and then Jennifer, repeating the same timid routine as he had when they’d left the house. He was looking at her when he spoke, but she could tell he wasn’t really seeing her like he was focused on a point just above her head and not her face. 

“When I’ve finished my errands in town, I’ll wait here for you,” he said, fiddling with the bottom of his waistcoat. 

Chewing her lip, Jennifer tried a smile at him. “Thank you. I’m really very grateful.”

“Please, it’s nothing,” he said in a strained voice. Jennifer grasped Henry’s shoulder and led him toward the stone building, throwing one last glance at Spencer, who was already easing Celeste out of the drive. Shaking her head, she and Henry made their way up the steps and into the nave. She dipped her fingers in the Holy Water and made the Sign of the Cross before depositing Henry in a lone pew against the back wall by the Confessional. Taking a deep breath, she slid open the heavy door to the small, dark room and knelt before the screen. 

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last Confession. Since then, I have sinned venially in word and in thought. I have coveted, I have been prideful, and…” she trailed off, knowing she must unburden herself fully, or she’d regret her dishonesty. 

“Yes, my daughter?” The priest prompted gently. 

“And I have been lustful in my thoughts,” she said in a rush, flushing bright red in the incense-scented darkness. 

“Are you married, my child?”, came the priest’s question through the screen. Jennifer felt her eyes sting with tears. 

“I am a widow, Father,” she whispered. He was silent for a moment. 

“Christ has consecrated the widows, child. Cling only to Jesus as your bridegroom, live a life of chastity and bear the strength of His love.”

Jennifer took a deep and shaking breath in. She did not know what to say. Her lips began to move numbly. 

“For these and all other sins which I cannot now recall, I ask absolution, penance, and counsel,” she murmured. 

She left the Confessional having dried her eyes and collected herself before fetching Henry. They chose a place in the middle of the sanctuary, so they could better enjoy the acoustics of the sacred music. Jennifer and Henry knelt on the hard wooden kneeler, the boy watching as she prayed the coral beads of her Rosary. Her penance was not as harsh as she had expected: fifteen Rosaries and thirty Hail Mary’s, though the priest’s admonition about chaste widowhood still ate at her. Did God truly expect her to live as a Widow for the rest of her days? Would she never know the joy of love, marriage, more children? Jennifer stared fervently at the brightly painted statue of the Virgin Mary. Surely, the Blessed Virgin would intercede for her. 

Jennifer did enjoy Mass, though, having never been to St. Brendan’s before. She thought it wise not to attend the same church her mother did, and besides, she wanted a fresh start. The beautiful hymns lifted her soul, and as she cast her eyes to Heaven she felt her burdens lessen. 

True to his word, Spencer was waiting for them out front of the church. He seemed slightly more disposed toward conversation this time, Jennifer noticed, for he was very interested to explain the basic architectural components of a cathedral to Henry, who was listening with rapt attention. 

“It took the French until roughly 1260 to complete Notre Dame de Paris, almost a century after they began building it. And it was nearly destroyed in the French Revolution, as well,” he was relaying to Henry. Spencer looked at her and smiled, making her giddy. “Vive la France,” he said mischievously, as he helped her into the wagon behind Henry. Jennifer noticed a few satchels and crates on the floorboards, no doubt containing dry goods and groceries. 

“How was town?” she asked. 

“Oh, not too fascinating,” he said. “I have my usual routine; the general store, the grocer, the library, and the Union Hotel,” he saw her questioning look and explained, “I pay one of the night porters to collect mail for Mother and me, and to conduct necessary business when I’m occupied.” 

“Have you ever seen a train robbery?” Henry piped up from between the two adults. Spencer laughed heartily at this as Jennifer stifled a chuckle. 

“What on earth brought that on?” she asked her son with amusement. 

“I just think life would be awful more interesting if there were more train robberies like there are in stories,” he said as if it were obvious. 

“No, Henry, I can’t say I have,” Spencer said. “And I don’t doubt I wouldn’t be entirely useless in a fight with robbers!” 

“I would shoot them like my Papa shot the dirty Spaniards,” Henry replied, making Jennifer’s heart stop in her chest. 

“Where did you hear such a thing?” she said incredulously. She was very careful what she told Henry about Will’s death and certainly had mentioned no details about his combat service. 

“Papa killed the bad men,” he insisted, and Jennifer still didn’t know what to say. To her surprise, Spencer came to her rescue. 

“Your father was a very brave man, Henry,” he said. “It takes a very special kind of bravery to lay one’s life down for one’s country. You should be proud to be his son.” He met her eyes above Henry’s head and Jennifer mouthed ‘thank you’ at him, touched beyond speech. For some reason, it didn’t upset her to hear Spencer talk about Will. His voice was filled with such tender conviction, and she believed him when he spoke about Will with reverence. 

“I miss him,” Henry said plaintively. Jennifer squeezed his hand tightly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, her heart breaking for her boy. 

“I lost my father, too,” Spencer said. “Not as young as you, but I miss him too. Every day. You’re not alone, Henry.” 

Before long, they’d arrived back at the homestead. Jennifer barely managed to get Henry to change out of his church clothes before he started climbing trees, but she cornered him and got him dressed in play clothes before any permanent damage was done. While she was in the loft, she changed out of her own finery, replacing the silk and lawn with a faded mauve muslin housedress. Careful not to crush the stiff taffeta on her hat, she placed it in it’s finely papered box with reverence. Once downstairs, she fetched buckets of water from the well and mixed in a good amount of lye. As she was on her hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor, Diana entered the room. 

“I can’t tell you the last time I washed that floor,” the older woman remarked. “I imagine I should feel guilty that you’re doing it for me, but I don’t. I am grateful, though,” Diana said. 

“I don’t mind, Diana,” Jennifer assured her. “Really, Henry and I are the grateful ones. Your hospitality is truly a kindness.”

“You’re a good girl, Jennifer,” Diana said. “I can see why my son is infatuated with you.” Jennifer began to scrub with vigor, hoping Diana didn’t notice how her face colored brightly at the mention of Spencer. 

“You’re too kind, ma’am,” she stammered. 

“Nonsense. I’m not being kind, I’m being honest.” the woman snapped. “And I am sure you are not too thick to have noticed yourself.”

“Mrs. Reid, I’m a widow and an employee in your home. I’m sure I’ve done nothing to encourage anything but the most amicable interactions between Dr. Reid and myself,” Jennifer said to the floor. 

“To your first point, just because you’re a widow doesn’t mean you died as well. It is not as if your husband died when you were both in your dotage, surrounded by grandchildren. He left you a young woman with a son who will someday need a masculine influence in his life. And to your second point, you could do absolutely not a whit of housework for all that I care. I’ve managed before and I’ll manage again. What I cannot manage, however, is watching Spencer retreat inside himself again. He’s come alive in the week you’ve been under our roof, Jennifer. It doesn’t take a genius-level intellect for me to see it.” Diana folded her arms across her chest and looked at Jennifer with a challenge in her eyes. 

Jennifer sat back on her heels and observed her cautiously. Diana didn’t appear to be having a fit of any sort, and certainly looked lucid enough, and she hadn’t been breathing in the steam from the lye for long enough to be hearing things. 

“I don’t know, Diana,” she sighed. “I feel as if we take one step toward each other and fall two steps back. Perhaps it isn’t the right time for us,” Jennifer said plaintively. Diana had walked to the doorway, and looked appraisingly back at her. 

“You are a smart woman, Jennifer. I am sure you’ll figure it out,” she said maddeningly, before leaving Jennifer alone with a wet floor and her confused thoughts. 

Later, as she hung the rags she’d used for cleaning out on the lines to dry and she’d ascertained that Henry was still busy swinging from branches and hiding in bushes, she reflected upon the week that had passed. It seemed like an eternity had passed, and yet, like no time had passed at all. She felt that way about Spencer and Diana too, as if she’d known them forever and then again, not at all. 

The sun shone mercilessly in the sky making her cranky with thirst. Back inside the house, Jennifer raided the larder for ingredients to make switchel, which was easier on the stomach when the drinker was dehydrated. The mixture of ginger, vinegar, and maple syrup wouldn’t make you throw up if you drank it down quickly. After drinking her fill, she filled up jars for Henry and Spencer. 

Henry drank his with excitement, gulping it down with a quick “thanks, Mama!” before he disappeared back into a hemlock thicket. Next, Jennifer approached Spencer’s workshop, surprised to see the door closed to the brightness outside. Curious, she knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again, a little louder this time. 

“Spencer?” she called. “Are you in there?” Where could he have gone? She swore she saw him make a beeline for the space as soon as he’d placed his purchases in the larder. Jennifer heard a rustling noise inside. 

“Yes,” Spencer said, his plaintive voice muffled. 

“Can I come in? I’ve brought you something to drink,” she said. What was going on with him? Was he sick?

Spencer opened the door and stepped back to let her in. 

“Are you ill?” she asked. He shook his head dolefully in response. 

“Well, here’s some switchel. It’s just ginger, vinegar, and maple syrup, but it’s refreshing,” she said by way of explanation. Wordlessly, he took the glass and drank.

Unsure of what to do next, Jennifer thought she ought to leave him alone so he could work out whatever was troubling him. She turned to leave before he stopped her as she reached the door. 

“Wait, Jennifer,” he called. She turned back to look at him. 

“Yes?” 

She had never seen Spencer so disheveled. His curls were tangled around his shoulders, his eyes bright, and there was nervous energy radiating off him. Jennifer was seriously beginning to get concerned about his health. 

“Does it help? Going to church?” 

This was really not what she had been expecting him to say when she’d turned around. What an odd conversation! 

“Well...yes, I suppose. It’s something I’ve always done. I find my faith to be a comfort,” she said, unsure of his meaning. Spencer looked as if he were about to burst out of his skin. 

“You pray, and God takes your troubles away?” he asked desperately. 

Jennifer thought for a moment before answering. “No, not always. Sometimes He sends challenges to test our faith, to build us up in His image.”

He shook his head and gave a little laugh at that. “So every Sunday, you worship a God who allowed your husband to be killed in a senseless war, even though all you get from it is comfort?” 

Jennifer glared at him. Really, what an uncalled for thing for him to say!

“War is the province of men, Spencer. Men killed Will, not God. It is horribly unjust and unfair and losing him almost killed me, but it is not God’s fault,” she retorted hotly. “My faith in Jesus, Mary, and all the angels and saints is what sustains me when I’d rather die. I won’t leave my son an orphan, and my faith ensures that. I won’t give in to it,” she said emphatically, meeting his eyes steadily. 

Spencer looked at her strangely and she felt a bit unsettled. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he admitted, deflating just a little. “And it’s not what I meant. I suppose I was wondering how, in the face of things you cannot possibly rationally understand, you can turn to something with no empirical proof.”

Jennifer smiled at him gently now. “Oh, there is proof. I see it every day. I see it when I look at Henry, when I see the ocean, in the sunlight, in the grass and trees, when I look at...when I look at you,” she finished shyly. 

“When you look at me?” he said incredulously. “Is that what you said?”

No turning back now, Jennifer thought to herself. She could either deny that she’d said anything, or she could see where this road would take her. Steeling herself, she answered him. 

“Yes. When I look at you, I know God exists,” she said with conviction and calm she didn’t feel. “When you smile at me, and the way you’re so wonderful to your mother and so patient and kind to Henry, I am reminded.” 

Jennifer was sure she would faint if Spencer didn’t say anything soon. 

“Oh, Jennifer,” he breathed quietly, crossing the room toward her. She could feel her heart trying to escape her ribcage. 

“I know logically what this is. It’s a wash of chemicals in our brains. It’s our basest instincts,” he said, swallowing hard. “But I admit I never expected it to feel like this.” There was a pain in his honey-colored eyes Jennifer couldn’t place. “Not that there were too many previous opportunities to study the phenomenon,” he muttered, looking away from her. 

Ah, there it was. She took a deep breath. “Nor I,” Jennifer admitted softly. Besides Will, her romantic experience was limited to schoolgirl infatuations, and a fumbling kiss with the baker’s son when she was fifteen. 

His laugh was quick and sharp, not mirthful and bright like she’d come to expect. “I have a hard time believing that. You’ve shared in a love I could never hope for.” Something wild and desperate had lit in his eyes. “And who couldn’t love you, Jennifer?” 

Her heart was beating even more rapidly in her chest, hammering so hard against her ribs she pressed her hands to her sternum to calm it. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that” she said tremorously, although she was unsure if she was talking to herself or him at that moment. 

“The rigors of science exhort us to experiment upon our hypotheses,” Spencer mused, looking at her with those enthralling eyes. Slowly, she noted his demeanor changing. He seemed to fill up all the space in the room with the energy radiating off him. Spencer shook his head a little as if clearing his thoughts and took a deep breath. 

“So perhaps an experiment is called for,” he said huskily. Jennifer felt herself pulled toward him by an invisible force, and suddenly his hands were cupping her cheeks oh so gently like she was made of the most precious porcelain. 

She looked up into his bottomless eyes and saw his unspoken question there. Jennifer found her voice had escaped her; all she could do was nod dumbly. And then, it happened. His lips were on hers, tentative at first. Her head was spinning, and she could not tell up from down. All she knew was the delicious pressure of his mouth on hers, and she was lost. Jennifer flung her arms around his neck and Spencer gasped into her mouth. His thumb was stroking her cheek as she deepened their kiss, surrendering to the sweetness of the sensation. 

He broke away from her and leaned his forehead against hers, his breath ragged and coming in gulps. 

“Spencer,” she whispered, overcome by feeling. 

“Don’t,” he said, his voice pleading. “Please, don’t. Not yet. Just a moment longer, before this all ends forever.” His voice cracked at this, and Jennifer jerked back in surprise. Was he sending her away? What had gone wrong? 

“What are you saying?” She asked, fear tingeing the edge of her voice. “Spencer, what do you mean?” A bit frantic now, she reached out for him. 

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, sounding resigned. “Your charity truly marvels that of your saints, Jennifer, and I won’t expect you to...to want this!” He gestured to himself in disgust. 

“What kind of heartache have you known?” Jennifer asked, her heart breaking for him. “How could you think such of me?” 

His eyes were tortured as he looked down at her through a wayward lock of chestnut hair. “It defies logic. How could someone like you want someone like me?” 

Jennifer shook her head, shocked. What darkness he walked in! What self-loathing ignorance! She walked toward him, not stopping even though Spencer was now backing away from her. He bumped into the counter and she paused, waiting for God to give her the courage to show him he was not alone in this maelstrom.

“Me too, Spencer. I feel it too. And that was not a kiss for pity’s sake. It was a kiss for all the times I’ve been driven to distraction by your presence and how I lose myself when you look at me,” she explained passionately. 

Confusion spread across the planes of his beautiful face. “So you would...that is, you didn’t...you didn’t mind?”

She laughed at that. “No, Spencer, I didn’t mind. In fact, I rather enjoyed myself.”

Understanding began to dawn, she could tell. No longer desperately clutching at the raw edge of the wood at his fingertips, he flexed his big hands slowly, looking at her intently. 

“You enjoyed yourself?” He asked. 

“Yes, silly man. I did,” she affirmed. “I would rather like to do it again.” Bolder now, she moved in closer. 

Spencer had a faraway look in his eyes as he said softly, “Sin from thy lips? Oh, trespass sweetly urged. Give me my sin again!” 

And then it happened once more: Jennifer could find nothing in the universe to hold onto but the sensations at hand. She felt herself melting at the heat of his touch. It was her turn to break the searing kiss. 

“You kiss by the book,” she replied slyly. Surely he was not the only one who could quote Shakespeare. The smile that he gave her could have lit the world for all eternity. Spencer embraced her, lifting her off the ground and spinning a bit with her in his arms before gently setting her on her feet again.

“You are a constant source of wonder,” he said fondly, gazing down at her. The pain she’d noted earlier was nowhere to be found. “I never imagined, not in my wildest dreams...”

“Shush,” Jennifer chided him, shutting him up with another kiss. Spencer’s arms tightened around her, molding her to his lean body. He kissed like a man drowning, gasping for air, like Tantalus given a sip of water. His hands flew across her face, her shoulders, her waist as if to memorize each curve. Unbidden, a moan slipped from her lips. She was losing herself in him. Spencer seemed to be spurred on by this. As her lips yielded around the moan, he slipped his tongue into her mouth. This electrified her completely, each nerve ending sparking and lighting up everywhere his skin touched hers. She let her hands trail down his chest and was mildly surprised to feel the muscles tensed under the skin. Jennifer tightened her fingers around the cloth of his suspenders as if to drag him impossibly closer. 

With a desperate groan that came from deep in his chest, Spencer lifted Jennifer off the ground and started walking, not breaking their kiss. Jennifer squeaked and clutched onto him harder, wrapping her legs around his trim waist. She could have sworn she heard him whimper, but all she could truly hear was the blood roaring in her ears. 

Belatedly, she realized Spencer’s hands were cupping her rear as he carried her across the workshop floor before setting her on the countertop. She gasped into his neck as she felt his fingers massage the flesh over her crumpled dress. When she whispered his name into the hot skin of his collarbone, she felt like she was praying. In response, he was murmuring sweet nothings as his lithe fingers worked at the pins at the nape of her neck, making a small noise of frustration. Finally, her hair escaped its clasps and flowed over her shoulders, covering his hands like cornsilk. 

“So, so beautiful,” he gasped, gazing deep into her eyes. “You’re so beautiful, Jennifer.”

“Spencer,” she whispered again. She felt she’d never be able to say his name enough to be satisfied. 

“I never dreamt this better,” he said. “You’re a revelation.”

Jennifer laid her head against his chest, listening to his heart hammering. Almost as if she wasn’t quite in control of her body, she drew him close to her with her legs. The effort shifted their positions and she suddenly felt the hard proof of his arousal pressing against her inner thigh. A warm feeling had been spreading through her body that now violently rushed downward, pooling in her belly and sending shivers down her spine. At this new angle, Spencer’s hips stuttered forward, the hardness pressing insistently against her. 

Like a shot, he was across the room, his face flushed and a horrified expression where desire had been plain earlier. 

“Jennifer, you must forgive me. I am not acting as a gentleman should,” he said, voice strained and eyes wide with shock. She felt strangely bereft and certainly much less warm, as she sat on the counter staring at him. 

“And how is that?” She countered, touching shaking fingers to her kiss-swollen lips. 

“A gentleman certainly doesn’t press his advances and certainly doesn’t...doesn’t paw and rut at a lady like an animal!” His voice pitched upward, frenzied. Spencer began pacing and suddenly slammed his fists against the plain plank walls. 

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated forlornly as he stared at the wall. 

She had half a mind to shout at him, shake him until he saw sense, but she didn’t. Instead, she hopped off the counter and smoothed her dress with shaking hands. Walking up behind him, she waited for Spencer to turn around. When he didn’t, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed a litany of kisses against his spine. 

“I didn’t mind,” she confessed, although she knew the spellbound moment had shattered. Jennifer felt his shoulders fall slack under her touch as he relaxed into her kisses. 

Still speaking to the wall, his voice was soft. 

“When we do...when, well, when it happens, I don’t want it to be rushed on the floor of my workshop. It should be special,” he finished. “You deserve more.” He turned around and cupped her cheek with one fine-boned hand. “You deserve the world, and I want to give it to you if you’ll permit me.” 

Jennifer nuzzled the palm caressing her face. She felt drunk, her head spinning like it had when she drank laudanum while in labor with Henry. Her head felt heavy like it was filled with honey. 

“You only had to ask,” she told him. She felt surprised as the words left her lips, but then realized she did mean it, she truly did. The smile Spencer blessed her with sent her stomach flip-flopping recklessly. He was so, so different from Will, and yet she hadn’t felt anything like this with anyone BUT Will. She knew she’d have hell to pay when the butterflies wore off and she was faced with the cold truth of what had happened, but she wanted to grasp onto happiness while she could. 

With a final feather-light kiss to her forehead, he led her by the hand toward the main house. Jennifer walked with him, happy to go where he went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you again. I admit I've taken some liberties with the founding of St. Brendan's, but it's literally too perfect of a location to not use (it was first built in 1917).


	5. Credo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Credo** : Belief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lapse between updates!! I just started a second job and I've been wicked busy. This story is keeping me warm while the snow falls/freezes/generally tries to kill me up here in Maine! Thank you, each and every one of you, for taking time to read this.

Jennifer wasn’t sure what she’d expected to happen when Spencer pulled her toward the house. She didn’t think he was the type to drag her to his bed like a savage, especially given his reticence to even remotely touch her in an intimate manner, but he’d already surprised her once today. Standing under the weather-worn eaves of the house, however, he just smiled down at her. They stood there with nothing but the faint noise of the waves crashing on the shore to break the silence. Jennifer felt immobilized by the brilliance of Spencer’s smile and the intensity with which he was looking down at her. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her right ear, rubbing the soft strands between his fingers like it was fine silk. 

“You’ve made me so happy, Jennifer,” he said softly, still smiling at her. “I could die right here, right now, and I would be content.”

“That’s awfully dramatic, Spencer,” she chuckled. “Besides, aren’t there still things you want to do? Things left to experience?”

“As long as you’re beside me, I suppose,” he agreed. Jennifer felt her stomach flip flop with the heavy knowledge of what he was saying, what he meant when he’d kissed her so desperately. She squeezed the hand that wasn’t tangled in her hair and cocked her head toward the house. 

“I’d better get supper started,” she said. Spencer let his hand fall slowly, brushing his knuckles against the exposed skin of her collarbone that stuck out of the neck of her dress. 

“Can I watch you? I’m useless in the kitchen, but I’d like to watch you,” Spencer implored. The look in his eyes reminded her of Henry.

“Of course,” she said, a bit surprised. “I can’t promise it’ll be anything interesting, but you’re welcome to join me.”

With a glance to make sure Henry was still occupied in the yard, Jennifer quickly inventoried her options for supper and strode purposefully to the larder. She’d soaked beans in a crock earlier in the week, and they could bake up with molasses and fatback, and there were plentiful turnip greens in the garden she could cut up and dress for a cold salad. She could fry up sausages and they could eat them with bread and butter. Jennifer began to work, tying on her apron and rolling up her sleeves, then quickly braiding her hair and tying it off. Spencer leaned up against the whitewashed wall, hip against the counter, watching her with interest. She lit the stove and set the earthenware crock of beans on the hob to heat and thicken. Next, she hoisted the heavy cast-iron skillet off its wrought-iron hook and rubbed it with grease before piercing the sausages with a fork. Earlier that afternoon, she’d kneaded the dough for bread and let it proof near the warmth of the stove. Now, she turned her attention to the process of flouring and kneading it into a loaf. Spencer moved closer to watch her hands skillfully working the dough. 

“How do you know when it’s ready for the oven?” he asked. Jennifer blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and thought about how to best answer him. 

“Well, once it doesn’t stick to my hands and all the flour’s been incorporated, that’s a good sign. Beyond that, though, it’s more about how it feels in my hands. It’s hard to describe. The dough will let you know when it’s ready,” she said, feeling a little foolish. 

“The dough will tell me?” Spencer asked incredulously. “With its lips and larynx and vocal cords?” He was smirking at her; she rolled her eyes. 

“Of course not, you fool,” she said, grabbing his slender wrist and pulling him flush to her side. She maneuvered his hand onto the ball of dough and guided it between hers, pressing down with the heel of her hand and pulling back in the motion she’d repeated millions of times in her life. 

“See?” Jennifer said. “There’s a rhythm to it. And practice makes perfect, you know.” Spencer’s hand was moving more confidently now underneath hers. “You’re a fast learner,” she murmured. 

“You’re a good teacher,” he replied, fingers flexing against her own. Jennifer looked up at him and smiled. He really was a quick study, the consummate learner. It was incredible to try and puzzle out the extent of his knowledge. And unnervingly handsome as well, if the blood rushing in her ears and the heat rising in her cheeks was any indicator. She hadn’t noticed that their hands had stopped moving until his long fingers began stroking the back of her hand instead of moving against the dough. 

Lest she get distracted and burn dinner, Jennifer cleared her throat and reached for a final dusting of flour before scoring the boule crossways with a knife and carefully moving it to the back of the oven. Spencer was still watching her intently; she could feel his eyes on her. Jennifer liked it. It wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling, it made her feel safe. 

“You don’t follow any recipes?” Spencer asked curiously. 

Jennifer had to laugh at that. She didn’t know any home cook who used a recipe book every time they stepped foot in the kitchen. Maybe at a fancy hotel, they had method cooks who wrote everything down, but she certainly wasn’t one of them. For one, she didn’t have the time, and secondly, she took a great deal of pride in being able to whip up filling and delicious meals out of seemingly nothing at all. 

“Oh no, I suppose I know them by heart. It’s all practice and repetition, really,” Jennifer replied. “I’ve been keeping a house since I was a little girl.” She held her hand over the skillet to make sure it was hot enough to brown the sausages and pulled her hand away after a quick second. It was the perfect temperature to sear the outsides and par-cook the insides before she finished them off in the lower heat of the oven. 

“Did you learn from your mother?” Spencer queried. Jennifer clenched her jaw to keep from laughing out loud. Her mother had taught her many things, but Jennifer knew Spencer wasn’t referring to the lessons taught with a backhand and a strap. 

“You could say I learned in spite of my mother,” she answered shortly, not wishing to continue the conversation. The last thing she needed was to complicate things with stories of her less than idyllic childhood. Fortunately, Spencer seemed to understand and didn’t press any further. 

“Then you do yourself credit,” he said firmly. Jennifer shot him a small, grateful smile and returned to her cooking. 

The meal was well enjoyed by the Reids and Henry alike, and it was not until her son was dozing in her lap and the kettle was boiling for tea that Diana fixed her and Spencer with her cat-like gaze. 

“I take it you two have come to an understanding,” she said. It was not a question. Jennifer glanced down quickly to ensure Henry was still napping, unsure of what she would say to her son about Spencer. Spencer, for his part, was blushing a furious red and assiduously not meeting his mother’s eyes. 

“Something of the sort,” Jennifer answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Diana gave her a sidelong smile. 

“I suspected as much,” she said, satisfied. Jennifer stole another glance at Spencer, who had an exasperated look on his face. 

“How did you know?” He asked petulantly, sounding every inch like Henry at that moment. 

“A mother always knows, Spencer,” replied Diana, bordering on smug. 

Jennifer thought it was the perfect time to get Henry in the bath and washed up. She’d meant to do it the night before, but time had gotten away from her, and besides, it seemed Spencer and Diana had a family discussion brewing. Quietly excusing herself, she carried Henry to the washroom tacked onto the back of the kitchen. 

The small room had a steeply sloping roof with an old clawfoot bathtub nestled in the corner. Though the pipes were old, the tap poured hot water just fine. Henry was so tired he didn’t even fight her too hard in the bath. Instead, he sat calmly in the warm water and let her scrub him clean with a soft and soapy flannel. Jennifer sudsed up his pale blonde hair and squealed when he splashed her. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” She cried, splashing him back. “Two can play at that game, my boy!”

Ten minutes later, she was thoroughly soaked as Henry dried off and changed into his pajamas, and raced back into the sitting room. 

“Spencer! Mama and I were playing and I splashed her all over and I won!” he crowed, obviously pleased with himself. Jennifer followed him into the room, shaking her head at the boy. 

“So you did,” Spencer said, a smile quirking the corners of his lips. Jennifer became acutely aware of how indecent she must look with her soaking wet dress plastered to her torso, but judging by the furtive appreciative glances she noticed from Spencer, he did not mind one bit. 

“Alright Henry, it’s time to say goodnight,” she reminded him. 

“Goodnight, Spencer. Goodnight, Mrs. Reid,” he parroted politely. 

“Have a nice sleep, Henry,” Spencer said kindly. Mrs. Reid looked up from her spot on the sofa and appraised Henry with bright eyes. 

“Yes, have a nice sleep, my boy. I hope your dreams are kind to you,” she said, worrying the frayed edge of a quilt in her long fingers, so much like Spencer’s. Henry clambered up the ladder, not waiting for his mama in the slightest. Jennifer got him settled into bed; she still hadn’t moved him to the truckle bed next to hers. She hung her dress over two wooden pegs on the wall, hoping it wouldn’t get too musty before she could hang it outside on the line to dry in the sun. Quickly pulling her nightgown over her head, she reached for their battered copy of Homer’s tales. They’d reached the part in the Odyssey where Polyphemus was stymied by “Nobody”, which amused Henry greatly. Jennifer opened the old book and settled into the bed next to her son. She began to read, weaving the tale around them until she was as lost in the story as Henry was.

Even as she read, though, her thoughts drifted unbidden to the man downstairs. Determined to keep her composure, Jennifer read on until Henry was sound asleep. She took a moment to gaze up at the rafters above her, book resting spine-up on her lap, Henry softly snoring next to her. So much had changed in the past few hours...it seemed like a geologic shift, honestly. She’d gone from convinced Spencer was disgusted by her wanton displays to being locked in an embrace with him. 

And there it came, the guilt crashing down around her like the ocean waves just steps from the house. She was torn, so incredibly torn, between honoring Will’s memory and following the tug of her heartstrings drawing her toward Spencer. The priest’s words about consecrated widowhood echoed in her head, loud as thunder. She’d never been one to blindly follow, but she still felt a twinge of fear for her immortal soul. And of course, there were wounds she could not see, surely, written on her heart. How would she react the first time she lay with Spencer? Would it even get that far before she ran for the hills? Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut against the barrage of thoughts flying through her head and took deep breaths to steady herself. Henry’s soft, warm body pressed up against her side was a comfort. At least she could always count on her boy to be there for her. 

Jennifer extricated herself from the bed and gazed out the small window. For the first time since she’d come to the Reid home, the light in Spencer’s workshop wasn’t burning. That was odd, she thought to herself. Curious, she climbed down the ladder and was surprised to find him sitting on the floor against the wall in the dim light of the dying fire. She stopped short on the ladder, twisting at the waist to look at him. 

“Is everything alright? I noticed your light’s off in the workshop. Usually, it’s on,” Jennifer explained cautiously. What had prompted this change in routine?

Spencer shook his head at her from his spot on the floor. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was just listening to you read to Henry.” 

Jennifer blushed. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you awake.”

“Oh no, not at all. I like your voice. I mean, I like hearing you read,” he amended quickly. Jennifer stepped off the ladder and hovered cautiously at the base, unsure of what to do or where to go. Slowly, with more grace than his gangly body should have been able to muster, Spencer levered himself off the ground and took a step towards her. 

“I didn’t behave as I should have earlier,” he said in a low voice. Jennifer opened her mouth to stop him, but he held up a hand to quiet her. “No, I didn’t. I let my emotions overcome my senses. I should have...it would have been better, maybe, if I’d…” he trailed off, fiddling with his waistcoat again. Jennifer reached trembling fingers out to stay his hand and felt the familiar jolt of electricity when her skin touched his. 

“Regardless, I should have approached you as a gentleman and not as a sex-crazed lunatic. I don’t want you to think I regard you as a loose woman or anything of the sort. I know your husband hasn’t been gone long, and I would never disrespect you or him in any way,” Spencer finished, looking down at where their hands met. “I understand if you don’t feel comfortable here. No one would fault you if you wished to return to your home.”

Jennifer stared at him, goggle-eyed. Would they have this conversation on a twice-daily basis for the rest of their lives? She gave his hand a squeeze and felt the way he trembled, though she could tell he was trying to hide it. 

“And where would I go, Spencer? Back to my mother’s house, so Henry can watch me get beaten and screamed at? Back to New Orleans so I can live on the charity of Will’s father? I wish you’d believe me when I say that I want this, that I want...want you,” she implored. Spencer’s face hardened when she mentioned being mistreated at her mother’s hands, eyes narrowing and a muscle jumping in his chiseled jaw. “Please, Spencer, let’s don’t end this before it’s even started,” she whispered. 

He met her eyes at that, yellow-hazel locking on her own cornflower blue ones. She hadn’t considered how undone by his eyes she’d become, feeling her knees go weak under that intense stare. 

“Permit me, then, to wish you goodnight like a gentleman,” he insisted. Jennifer nodded, breath catching in her chest and her heart beating wildly. Spencer moved closer to her until she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Slowly, ever so slowly, he brought his hands up to cup her face and she felt that strange pull that drew her to him tugging at her very bones. She shifted her body closer to his, craving more of his touch. “I was overeager this morning,” he whispered, stroking her left cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Now, I humbly ask...may I kiss you?” 

Jennifer felt that familiar tickle in her stomach again warming her from the inside out. She nodded and tilted her head ever so slightly, lips parting of their own accord. Slowly, he bent down and drew her in, placing a soft, chaste kiss on her lips before releasing her. Jennifer found herself craving more, aching for want. She searched his eyes, looking for any signs of doubt or regret. Finding none, she stretched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against his, reveling in the soft noise of want that escaped Spencer’s soft lips. Ever so briefly, she allowed her lips to part and her tongue to taste his delicious bottom lip. Jennifer heard his sharp intake of breath and felt his hands flex experimentally against her skin as he allowed her intrusion. 

“You are perfection, exquisite perfection,” Spencer murmured against her lips, and her blood rushed with warmth at the reverence echoing in his voice. Jennifer ducked her head and buried her face in the neck of his shirt, breathing in his scent...he smelled of kerosene and ink, she thought. Different from Will’s sea air and liniment, but not altogether unpleasant, not at all. She had to swallow a lump of emotion in her throat. It had been so long since she’d been held like this, so long since she’d felt another’s heart beating in time with her own. 

There they stood, time frozen, holding each other until Jennifer lost track of anything but the steady thump of Spencer’s heart and the soft rise and fall of his chest. She would have been content to stay there, rooted to the spot until the world had fallen to dust around them. She must have been lost in her thoughts, too, because she was just barely aware of Spencer speaking in her ear. 

“Hmmm?” Jennifer asked contentedly, stirring in his arms to look up at him through slightly bleary eyes. 

“I said you’re going to fall asleep where you stand,” Spencer chuckled. “And I’m not the kind of doctor who can tend to a head wound.” Jennifer wanted to stay in his arms forever, and not only because she didn’t know how she was going to walk away from him and try to fall asleep. 

Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. “I wish I could stay here with you,” she admitted softly. “I don’t know how I’m going to drag myself away.”

Spencer made a strangled noise in his throat and shifted his weight. “Jennifer. I’m trying hard to act like a gentleman. If we stayed together tonight, I’m not sure I would remain one.”

Jennifer knew he was right, and she’d never be able to forgive herself if she forced Spencer to cross a line he wasn’t entirely willing to cross. And perhaps there would be some benefit to moving slowly. God knows she hadn’t gone slow with Will, and though she didn’t regret it, perhaps perspicacity was the way forward in this new relationship. 

“Then we’ll say goodnight,” Jennifer agreed, smiling up at him again. Spencer clasped her shoulders and drew her close once more. 

“In the absence of having you in my arms all night, I’ll instead wish you sweet dreams instead,” he said tenderly as he stroked random patterns on her back. Jennifer could tell with every second that passed she was falling for Spencer Reid more and more, and soon she’d be so far gone there’d be no coming back. 

Their lips met again in another sweet kiss as the moonlight shone through the wavy panes of the window and bathed the couple in silvery light. The newness and wonder of the moment was a heady drug indeed and Jennifer almost lost herself again. She had to nearly force herself away and back up the ladder into the loft, and couldn’t help peeking her head back over the precipice and blowing Spencer a kiss. A brilliant smile lit up his face, and he put his fist in the air as if to catch it. As she laid snug in her bed with Henry, Jennifer dozed off with visions of both Spencer and Will streaming through her mind, keeping her company as she drifted into unconsciousness.


	6. Somnium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Somnium : sleep**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **RATING CHANGE AHEAD- T to M** CW for mention of sexual assault and suicide (though it isn't anything you're unfamiliar with if you've watched CM) If you find yourself triggered by the content of this chapter, please do not hesitate to reach out to me and I'll make sure to send you edited versions of future chapters if you need. Additionally, the RAINN hotline is confidential, 24/7, and free. You can talk to someone at 1-800-656-4673.

Though she slept, she dreamt vividly. It was the smell of brackish water and mudflats that she noticed first. Jennifer hadn’t smelled anything like that since she’d left the bayou and come back to the ocean. And then she heard the buzz of insects high and whining and thought she should open her eyes, but found her eyes were already open. She was standing on a patch of crushed pink azalea petals, her feet sticky with their nectar, and wearing her wedding dress. 

A man cleared his throat behind her. Jennifer whirled around in the humid air and there was Will, handsome as ever and standing before her with a smile on his face. Jennifer wondered if a person could faint in a dream. She didn’t, though, because she was suddenly in her dead husband’s arms under the boughs of a willow tree, their legs tangled together on the fragrant grass. 

“Is this real?” Jennifer whispered as Will’s strong fingers traced her lips. 

“Does it matter, cherie?” He chuckled. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He looked as real as he did the last time she saw him, on the platform waving goodbye as his train steamed away. 

“Yes.” She was enthralled, overcome with emotion. Jennifer felt as if she was watching from above like she wasn’t truly in control of her body. A thick mist was swirling through the green fronds that surrounded them. 

“I miss you so much,” she heard herself say, surprised to hear no distress in her voice, just honesty. 

“I know, my love. We should have had longer, you and me,” Will said. She could feel his voice thrumming in her bones, settling deep inside her. 

“But I’ll always be a part of you,” he said. 

Jennifer watched herself nod and say “Henry”. 

Will shook his head. “Not just that, though you’re not wrong, darling. I meant we’ll always be a part of each other. Death can’t change that.” 

He took her hand and pressed it fervently to his lips, ghosting a kiss on the pearlescent flesh there. 

“But just because you and I had a life together doesn’t mean you can’t have a life with someone else, Jennifer. You’re a rare flower, my dear, and you deserve to bloom.”

Jennifer felt like a piece of dandelion fluff caught on a breeze, floating away from all she’d known to be real and true. 

“At least promise me you’ll try, darlin’. And I mean it when I say try, you hear? Don’t go running from a good thing if he’s right in front of your nose,” he smiled, eyes crinkling impishly, and tweaked her nose. 

“And now it’s time for you to wake up, cher,” Will said. A strange glowing light began to emanate from his form. “Time to wake up and get our boy ready to face the day.”

“Will I see you again?” Jennifer cried frantically, reaching out toward him but finding her fingers were sliding through empty air as he faded from her sight. “Oh! Will!” 

A soft breeze fragrant with lowland flowers and marsh air brushed past her and she heard Will’s voice sigh once more. 

“I’m always with you. Now go, wake up. You have a life to live.”

-

Jennifer’s eyes popped open and she was up in her bed like a shot, searching her room for any sign of Will. It had all seemed so real! She’d never had a dream so vibrant and lifelike before, and for Will to speak to her! Her heart was racing. She pressed her hand to her chest and tried to take deep breaths. She couldn’t imagine what had brought on such a vivid dream. 

Henry was slumbering peacefully next to her with his thumb in his mouth, unaware of her jostling. The weak morning sun was shining on the narrow floorboards, welcoming her to awakeness. Jennifer took several more steadying breaths and swung her legs out of the bed. She had chores to do, and dwelling on dreams wouldn’t make them get done any faster. 

Chickens fed and let loose, the milking was done, and Celeste had been fed and put on a long line to wander around her small half-paddock, Jennifer wiped her hands on her apron and surveyed the yard with her hand shielding her eyes. The end of August was rapidly approaching and she knew she’d have to make some serious plans for the harvest soon. Onions and potatoes could go in the cellar with the other hardy root vegetables if she could dig them out of the hard ground. Neither Diana nor Spencer had given much thought to the garden over the past years, and Jennifer had grand plans for the spring indeed. She could see it now: rows of tomatoes, cabbage, carrots, and greens all bright and thriving in the sun. She’d plant beans along the side of the house so they could climb up the walls, too. At the very least, she’d found several stands of berries thick with fruit and had spotted some apple trees that looked like they still had fruit on them in an overgrown orchard. There’d be plenty of preserves to put up from that. Jennifer also had a mind to get a goat as well but thought that was perhaps premature with the year winding to a close. 

Spencer made his appearance while she was surveying the land, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He kissed the crown of her head and gave her a little squeeze. 

“You’re quite intent, Jennifer. Are you making a study of my land?” he asked. She could hear the amusement in his voice and knew he was just teasing her. 

“I am, actually. Someone should, you know. This whole space is underutilized back here, and along the side of the house facing south,” Jennifer said as she twisted around in Spencer’s arms to smile up at him. 

“Is there anything you can’t do?” Spencer chuckled lightly. 

“Well, look who’s talking!” Jennifer exclaimed as she smacked him lightly on the chest. “As I recall, you’re the doctor and I’m the housekeeper!”

“I confess I don’t exactly have a green thumb,” Spencer said with a slight grimace. “I could lecture for hours upon hours about biology and chemistry and weather patterns, but I could no sooner plow a field than walk on water.”

“You’ll have to help me plant in the spring, then,” Jennifer decided. “I’ll teach you.”

“I would be honored,” Spencer said solemnly before releasing her from his arms. He cleared his throat and tugged at his waistcoat again, his tell for when he was nervous. “I also thought I would offer to assist you with Henry’s education, where I can.”

Jennifer opened her mouth to protest. She couldn’t bear the idea of Spencer feeling obligated to pay for her son’s schooling, but he held up a hand for silence before she could speak. 

“I only meant as a complement to his current studies. Do you know how to play chess? I could teach him how to play chess, and I can teach him the constellations and the phases of the moon…” he rambled on excitedly. Jennifer smiled brightly at this wonderfully generous man. 

“That would be wonderful, Spencer, truly. Henry adores you and he’d love to learn from you,” she enthused. 

“Are you finished with your chores?” he asked her. She nodded and wiped her face with a corner of her apron. 

“For the morning, yes. Did you see the coffee and rolls I left in the kitchen?” 

Spencer nodded hastily. “I’ve already availed myself of your hospitality this morning. My compliments to the chef,” he said with an impish grin. “If you have time, I’d like to show you something.”

Jennifer nodded and impulsively reached for his hand, lacing his fingers in between hers. “Show me,” was her answer, and she let the tall man lead her away from the house in the opposite direction of the ocean toward the woods. Together they traipsed through grass that grew gradually higher and over little dips and rises in the ground. Once across the road, Spencer led her on a small footpath into a copse of trees, winding his way confidently through the green and gold dappled light. The dirt smelled moist and fertile and she could hear crickets singing in the weeds, serenading them. Where was he taking her? 

Another quarter mile more and they broke through the trees into a circular meadow filled with so many wildflowers that Jennifer lost her breath when she saw him. A small brook babbled on the far side of the clearing, a dilapidated structure that must have been a modest farmer or herder’s hut half a century before. Excitedly, she dropped Spencer’s hand and scrambled to the middle of the clearing before spinning around to smile at him. 

“It’s so beautiful!” She was absolutely wonderstruck by the colors and warmth spreading around her. Birds were chirping in the trees and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Spencer was staring at her, a strange expression on his face. 

“What is it?” she asked him as she swung her arms at her side, relishing the feeling of the flowers brushing against her fingertips. 

“Just that I’m glad someone else appreciates the beauty of this place. I just didn’t expect it to look so dull in comparison to you,” he said. Jennifer felt a bit flustered at this and flopped down in the grass instead of trying to answer. She stretched her arms over her head and pointed her toes before wiggling them contentedly. A shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Spencer standing over her. 

“How’s the view?” Spencer asked. Jennifer gave him another smile as she answered. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad. But I think I need to take a closer look,” she said, leaning up on her elbow and extending a hand up to him. He took it and then yelped in surprise as Jennifer yanked him down to the ground beside her with satisfaction. 

“There, much better.” She was happier with this arrangement; now they were on equal levels and she could look him in the face. Distantly, in the back of her mind, she heard Will’s voice reminding her that she had to bloom. 

“When did you find this place?” she asked him. 

“When I was about ten,” he said. “My father thought I spent too much time indoors and wanted me to get some exercise. Once he was sure I wasn’t hiding in a tree reading, it didn’t matter how far I went. And as close as this is to the house, it took me months to find it. In the summer I used to keep a horse blanket out here and spend the night sometimes.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Jennifer admitted. “But also lonely.”

Spencer sighed and nodded. “I spent much of my childhood alone, lost in books. When my mother was well, we were like any other family. But her bad days got worse, more frequent. I often wonder what would have happened if my father hadn’t died, how’d they be managing. My mother is...not an easy person to live with sometimes,” he finished quietly, pulling blades of grass out of the ground and shredding them between his long fingers. 

“I know the feeling,” Jennifer said wryly. What her own mother lacked in maternal instinct she made up for in cruelty. Her sister Roslyn couldn’t handle it and ended up dead in the ground at seventeen. She took a deep breath and met Spencer’s eyes. 

“I think my mother drove my older sister to suicide,” she confided in him. Spencer’s eyes grew wide and a frown furrowed his brow. 

“How do you mean?”

Jennifer let out her breath in a whoosh of relief. He hadn’t called her crazy or laughed at her; rather, he was curious. 

“As I’m sure you’ve gathered, my mother was not the most loving parent in the world. I don’t know how she ended up married to my father, who is a saint, but she did. My sister and I never knew any affection from her. There was nothing we could do that was right or good enough in her eyes,” she explained. 

Spencer was still watching her, his eyes clouded with concern. 

“She’s obsessed with cleanliness and morality. She never let us forget how base and immoral we were. When Roslyn was seventeen…” she trailed off, a knot catching in her throat. 

“When she was seventeen, she was raped by a group of men in an alley one night when she was walking home from her job at the milliner's. As if that weren’t enough, my mother blamed it on her,” she finished in a whisper, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks. 

“Roslyn opened up her wrists with our father’s razor, and I was the one who found her the next morning,” Jennifer said numbly. 

Spencer pushed himself up on the grass and gathered her into his arms and held her close. 

“I am so very sorry, Jennifer,” he said into her hair. “You don’t deserve any of the tragedy that’s befallen you,” he said fervently. 

The tears that threatened before fell in earnest now, soaking the fawn-colored gabardine of Spencer’s waistcoat. When Roslyn died, Jennifer had to keep her grief stifled for fear that her mother would lash out at her, and she’d kept it buried deep inside for the past decade. And then when Will died, she didn’t know even how to begin to grieve. Jennifer thought back to her dream earlier that morning. Clearly, she had some sort of issue processing her emotions like a normal person. 

For a while they just sat in the grass in the center of the meadow, Jennifer crying while Spencer held her tenderly in his arms. He whispered comforting words into her ear and slowly, she quieted. Eventually, Jennifer raised her tear-stained face out of Spencer’s shirt and immediately flushed with embarrassment. 

“I got your shirt all wet,” she said, sniffling. 

Spencer leaned back and looked at her with an arched eyebrow. 

“You’ve just spent the better part of the last hour recounting your deepest traumas to me and then crying enough to dehydrate yourself, and you’re worried about my shirt?” He was laughing now, and Jennifer met him with a small smile. 

“Don’t you feel better when there’s something you can control?” She asked him. 

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I can see how, given your past experiences, you’d find becoming a masterful homesteader empowering. It follows that the instability in your childhood home would compel you to ensure stability in your own family now,” Spencer mused thoughtfully. 

Jennifer gaped at him. She’d never heard it summed up so succinctly before. 

“That’s...that’s true,” she said. “What made you think of that?” 

Spencer’s face lit up as he began to explain to her. “I believe that we’ll find the study of human behavior to be extremely enlightening in the new century. We’re beginning to understand the brain and the human psyche, and there are so many possibilities on the horizon.”

Jennifer thought the enraptured look on his face was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in her entire life. Spencer truly came to life when he was talking about science or nature, she’d noticed. She could listen to him talk forever, about anything at all, and never grow tired of it. 

“I think you’re the most observant person I’ve ever met,” she commented. Spencer’s eyes crinkled up at the corners as he smiled wider at her compliment. 

“It helps when the subject is as enthralling as you are,” he said shyly, cheeks coloring. “If I could spend the rest of my life studying you, I don’t think I would ever be sated.”

It was Jennifer’s turn to blush hot now, flushing red from her chest up to her cheeks. His words were like a drug to her, drawing her closer and pulling her under. The atmosphere around them was charged now and she couldn’t hear the insects anymore, just the blood rushing in her ears. The moment stretched on forever and yet seemed to fly by. Fleetingly, Jennifer treated herself to a glance at Spencer’s plush lips and was almost knocked over by how much she wanted to lean in and bite the full lower one. 

Spencer’s eyes had darkened from their usual honeyed hazel to a deeper, stormier color that lit a fire in Jennifer’s belly when he turned his gaze on her. It felt like he was undressing her with his eyes, and she could feel the need radiating off him like a wave. 

“If I could, I’d make it so you’d never cry from sorrow again,” he said, his eyes intense on her face. “I’d make it so tears of joy were all you’d know.” He reached toward her with his nimble hands and drew her close to him. Jennifer was breathless now, anticipation blooming in her blood as she surrendered to his kiss. 

It was headier than any laudanum she’d ever known, sweeter than any wine she’d ever tasted. Jennifer moaned against those perfect lips, desperate for more. He obliged her, bolder than he’d ever been before, deepening the kiss and tightening his grip at the back of her neck. Tender and intense at the same time; all heat and light. When she opened her mouth to his tongue and met it with her own, Jennifer felt a familiar wetness begin to gather between her thighs as she rolled her hips toward Spencer’s. She felt the answer she needed pressing hard into her hip as she moved as close as she could to him. Spencer groaned and bucked his hips toward her, grinding against her deliciously. 

With strong hands, Spencer pulled Jennifer onto his lap without breaking their kiss. As his hardness bumped against her sensitive center, she threw her head back and gasped desperately. The new angle sent electricity crackling through her body and she clenched her thighs around Spencer’s hips like a vice. His fingers had found her waist, trailing down her hips and dipping around to squeeze her bottom as she rocked against him again. Spencer’s eyes popped open, pupils blown wide and desire plainly written on his face. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said, voice breaking on the words. "Tell me it’s too much too soon, it’s foolish and it’s--” 

She cut him off by sealing her lips on his again and swallowing his words with her silent assent. Jennifer saw the precipice before her and decided to jump, not wait to fall off. It was time to take control back in her life. She was kissing him as fervently as he was kissing her, their tongues locked in a familiar dance. Spencer’s right hand moved up her torso to cup her breast through her dress. Jennifer moaned again and ground herself down against him. His thumb brushed against her nipple and she jolted forward at his touch, pressing herself into his hand. Spurred on, Spencer rubbed the digit back and forth and then circled it with a deliberate slowness that drove her mad. Her breasts were straining against the fabric of her dress now; her nipples hard buds almost peeking above the neckline where the garment had been dragged down when Spencer had pulled her onto his lap. 

“Pygmalion was robbed when he finally had Galatea before him in the flesh,” he said, voice gravelly and deeper than she’d ever heard it. “For you are beautiful enough to drive the gods to jealousy.”

Jennifer leaned forward in his lap and delivered a small bite to Spencer’s swollen lower lip. “Are you really in the mood to discuss Greek mythology right now?” she asked mischievously, rolling her hips down against him again. His firm hardness pressing up against the apex of her thighs sent jolts of pleasure through her body and she craved more of it. 

“No, not particularly,” he said, his voice a sensuous caress that slipped over her like the finest silk. Spencer splayed the hand that wasn’t stroking her breast across her lower back and pulled her flush against him as he gently thrust his hips upward. At this, Jennifer arched her back and that was the final straw for her overburdened neckline; the top two buttons popped open as her breasts breached their confines. The summer breeze caressed her skin gloriously as her exposed nipples pebbled up in the sun-drenched air. She reached behind herself and pulled Spencer’s hand up to her chest to join the other, urging him on with her lips. Jennifer was giddy; she couldn’t tell if it was from lack of oxygen or from how much he was affecting her. 

Her hands were scrabbling over his shoulders and at his collar. She nearly ripped the buttons off their thread in her haste to get at his skin. Jennifer latched her mouth on the pulse point at the crux of his neck and clavicle and sucked, peppering Spencer’s skin with little nips now and again. His hands grew rougher in their explorations and she had to bury her head in his neck to steady herself. Distantly, she knew she was wantonly rocking against Spencer’s erection, the only thing separating them from becoming one was a few layers of fabric, but she couldn’t bring herself to cease her movements. And besides, Spencer’s desperate noises and passionate embrace were sure signs that he was fighting the same urges she was. 

Spencer’s hips were pressing up into her center, this was true, but she craved more of the indescribably pleasurable friction that she knew from her own exploration of her body and her time with Will in the bedroom. 

“Spencer,” she whispered against the salty skin of his neck. 

“Yes, angel?” his voice broken and rough sounding. The endearment nearly brought tears to her eyes, so tenderly she felt at that moment. Suddenly, she lost the nerve to speak and couldn’t fathom asking for what she wanted, what she needed from him. A needy whine escaped her lips as she clenched her thighs tighter around him. His fingers traced patterns absently on her skin, igniting flames wherever they touched. Jennifer was shaking like a leaf with desire under his attention. 

“Please,” she begged shamelessly, her hands moving of their own volition down the expanse of his chest, stopping when she felt the muscles of his abdomen flex under her touch. To her surprise, Spencer swore under his breath, something she’d never known him to do. 

“Jennifer, I am just a man, and a very weak one when faced with your temptations. I don’t trust myself not to succumb,” he said, cradling her in his arms and holding her close. Jennifer whimpered again, nearly insensate with need. 

“I want to,” she gasped, trying to fill her aching chest with air even as it heaved shakily. “Spencer, please...touch me.” His eyes locked with hers and she felt breathless all over again. 

“Say it again,” he said hoarsely, a strange look in his eyes. 

“I need you, Spencer, please. I need you to touch me,” she whispered hotly, desperately. He obliged her with a small grunt of effort as he levered her onto her back and settled between her legs. Strong hands were planted in the soft grass at her shoulders and Spencer was above her, brushing a kiss against her jaw before traveling down her chest to take a nipple into his mouth. Jennifer’s mouth fell open in an O of surprise as he enveloped the bud in his warm mouth. His free hand was kneading her other breast while the other danced along her hip and she mewled with pleasure. 

He moved confidently now, different from how he’d always drawn back before. His knee moved up between her legs, nudging them open. Jennifer’s dress was rucked up around her hips, bloomer-clad legs and bare feet wrapping around the man to pull him closer. Spencer raised his head to give her a radiant smile as his hand crept devilishly from her knee up her thigh, fingers tickling the sensitive skin there. She canted her hips toward his exploring hand, aching for more contact than his teasing allowed. Slowly, slowly, his fingers crept toward the v between her legs, brushing his knuckles at the damp cotton covering her center. 

Drawing back, his eyes searched hers. She was overcome by the immensity of what she saw there, emotions she knew she had felt but could never find the words to do them justice. Wordlessly, she nodded, surging up to capture his lips with hers. Again, his fingers moved sinfully against her, this time deftly parting the slit in the fabric that covered her most intimate parts before dipping a finger into the slick wetness pooled at her entrance. Jennifer let out a wild moan as her hips jolted forward, forcing Spencer’s index finger inside her up to the knuckle. 

Jennifer’s vision whited out at the corners as she trembled violently under Spencer. She hadn’t been touched like this in the months since Will’s death and she found herself nearly overwhelmed. She could see the cords of muscle straining mightily against the skin of Spencer’s neck and could hear his ragged breathing. Slowly, with what seemed like mighty effort, he withdrew his finger to slide it up and down her folds tantalizingly. 

On one tortuously slow upward swipe, Spencer brushed that sensitive bud of nerves nestled at the top of her sex and Jennifer cried out so loudly they might have been heard if they hadn’t been in the woods. She knew the ecstasy that secret spot could bring her and chased the sensation, widening her legs and pressing herself into Spencer’s hand cupped against her. 

“Oh,” he said throatily, eyes twinkling down at her. “You like being touched there, don’t you, Jennifer?” He asked in a silken voice. All she could do was nod her head desperately as he added a second finger to his slow exploration, then a third. Spencer rubbed her with a slow rhythm and spread her folds with his fingers, occasionally dipping down again to tease her entrance. Jennifer thought she’d combust into flames on the spot if she didn’t find relief. On and on he went, and when she opened her eyes blearily she found he was watching her with razor-sharp intensity, adjusting his movements according to her body’s response. Of course he would, she thought distantly, he was a consummate scholar and the most observant man she’d ever encountered. She just hadn’t expected him to be so good at it. 

At that moment, his fingernail brushed against her, scraping her swollen flesh and sending her into spasms. 

“There? Like that?” He asked, pressing harder against the nerves with the edge of the nail, faster and more insistently now. 

“Yes! Yes!” She cried with every cell in her body aflame for him as she crashed into her climax, shuddering violently under him. “Spencer,” she moaned, reaching up blindly to drag him down to her lips and kissing him as if his lips were the only sustenance she needed. 

Pulling away, he covered her face and chest with kisses, nuzzling into her soft flesh. 

“That,” he gasped, “was the most exquisite thing I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” And then he brought his fingers up to mouth and licked her wetness off them without breaking eye contact. Jennifer really did feel faint then, the combination of post-orgasmic bliss and the heat Spencer’s eyes on her almost doing her in. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, capturing her lips in a sweet kiss; she could taste herself on his tongue. 

“No, thank you,” she whispered back, clarity returning slowly as she came back down to earth. 

“Let me show you how grateful I am,” she continued. She felt wild and wanton and charged with erotic energy. Spencer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she tugged him down to the ground and rolled over to straddle his narrow hips. His erection was straining mightily against the cloth of his trousers, so tight she could see the ridged outline of the organ's head. Jennifer gently trailed her fingers up and down the clothed length as she balanced above him on her knees. Spencer’s eyes were screwed tightly shut and his lips were clenched between his teeth. 

Jennifer wrapped her fingers around the clothed shaft and squeezed gently, enjoying the rush of power she felt in her veins. Her fingers scrabbled over his belt buckle and she nearly ruined that button as well in her haste. And then he was free, his erection springing up to rest against his hipbone. Her mouth watered and slick pooled again between her legs as she saw him for the first time, skin flushed dark and the head a dusky deep pink, a drop of liquid sliding down the side. 

Tentatively, she grasped his hard length and moved her hand and up and down slightly, the movements returning like muscle memory as she continued to stroke the plush yet firm flesh. Jennifer gathered some of the liquid from the tip to coat her hand as she pumped a little faster, paying attention to how Spencer’s body jerked and bucked when she swiped over the sensitive ridge under the head. When she was satisfied with how wound up he was, she took a deep breath and ducked her head to fasten her lips over the tip of his member, sucking lightly. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Spencer exclaimed as his hips snapped up and drove his length deeper into the soft wet heat of her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes as he bumped the reflex in the back of her throat and Jennifer stilled for a moment, breathing through her nose before swallowing him all the way to the root and letting the muscles work him into a frenzy. Inspired now, she alternated between suction and tracing feather-light licks along the vein of his shaft until he was making strangled, incoherent noises. She felt his fingers lace into her hair and she hummed with pleasure, enjoying watching him come undone because of her. 

“Jennifer, Jennifer,” he wheezed, tugging on her hair desperately. “Jennifer, I’m going to...oh, Christ,” he bit out with effort. “If you don’t stop, I’m afraid I’m going to—“

This was all she needed to hear to inspire her to more action. With her mouth still around him, she brought her hand down his torso, scratching him gently with her nails until she reached the soft skin covering his sharp hip bone. Then, slowly trailing lower, she shifted her hand down to fondle his sac as she hollowed her cheeks around him. With a hoarse shout and a final jolt of his hips, Spencer spilled his release into her mouth. Jennifer swallowed the salty, slightly bitter liquid, and sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Spencer was lying motionless on the grass, staring unblinkingly up at the cloudless sky. Jennifer crawled on hands and knees up to his side and tapped his chest tentatively. 

“Are you alright?” She asked, noting how utterly debauched he looked. Spencer met her eyes and nodded mutely. He spoke after a few beats of silence, voice strained. 

“I didn’t know people did that,” he said weakly. “I didn’t realize you were going to…” he trailed off, waving an arm lazily before trying and failing to prop himself up. Instead, he settled for pulling Jennifer to his chest and tucking her under his arm, her head resting against his chest. She could hear his heart beating wildly and she knew hers was beating to match it. 

“That was amazing,” Jennifer whispered into the rumpled fabric of his shirt. “I haven’t...done that with anyone since, well, since before…” she trailed off. Spencer kissed the top of her head softly and squeezed her tighter to him. 

“I have, once before. Well, not that second part,” Spencer said in a small voice. “But it wasn’t like that. I didn’t know it could be like that.” Jennifer made a tiny noise of agreement in the back of her throat and let her eyes drift lazily shut as she was lulled into a deeper state of comfort by the soft sounds of Spencer’s breathing. Just as she was about to finally slip into sleep, she thought she heard Spencer say something to her that she couldn’t quite make out but she was too tired to ask him to repeat himself. They laid there together in the heat of the afternoon, warmed by the sun and their newfound intimacy.


	7. Aegritudo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for coming with me on this. No violence or explicit sexual content in this chapter.

The dog days of summer stretched long and golden through the expanse of September that year. The rhythms of the changing season monopolized much of Jennifer’s time. She’d given the larder a deep clean to prepare for the incoming harvest, no matter how meager, and scoured each room of the house from floor to ceiling. Spencer’s considerable height was a blessing when she found she couldn’t reach more than a foot below the ceiling without jumping while she scrubbed. 

Jennifer loved the quiet moments they shared while cleaning the house. They talked of everything and nothing, and she learned more and more about the man she was more in love with than she wanted to admit. Spencer had studied extensively at Harvard, it turned out, under the tutelage of a colleague of Sigmund Freud who broke from his cadre of followers to start a new school of study. Dr. Gideon was the first name in behaviorism and Spencer spoke of him with such reverence that Jennifer was almost afraid to ask what had happened to the man. 

There was no tragedy, though; the relationship had dwindled when Spencer returned to Maine, and regular correspondence lessened. Jennifer was no scholar of human behavior, but even she could see Gideon had a profound effect on Spencer and he missed him deeply. 

Jennifer had also wheedled out of him the name of his first lover. After realizing teasing him wouldn’t work, she switched tactics and launched a line of questions at him one night when she’d surprised him in the stable and they ended up entwined in a bed of hay. 

“Lila Archer,” Spencer finally admitted, holding her close to him. “She was an actress in Boston. Well, I guess she still is,” he mused. 

“What happened?” Jennifer asked, curiosity eating at her. She felt like Spencer had been able to put together a great deal about her relationship with Will; and it was obvious the two had been intimate, she’d had Henry. But she knew very little about his romantic life, except that he’d only been with someone once before. Truthfully, it was the same for her, and she didn’t want him to think she had any sort of negative opinion or judgment about his experience, or lack thereof. 

Spencer shrugged his shoulders, jostling her against his chest a little. “Nothing much, looking back. Now that I have more data to consider, I’m able to view what I had with Lila with more accuracy,” he said, sounding more than a little pleased with himself. 

“And?” Jennifer prompted, teasing the skin on his chest with her fingertips. Spencer reached down to still her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. 

“For some reason, we happened to be sharing a cab,” he explained. “I didn’t know who she was, and I think that excited her. It wasn’t until we were in her apartment and I was half-naked did I finally realize what was happening. And then it was over,” he said matter-of-factly. “I tried to see her again, to at least discuss what happened between us, but she wouldn’t see me. A month later I moved back here.”

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” Jennifer cajoled him. “And you already knew the only person I’ve ever been with was Will,” she said to remind him. “Now you,” she added. 

“But you did more with Will,” Spencer rejoined. His voice wasn’t hostile or jealous, just honest in the assessment of reality. 

“Yes, I did,” she agreed. “And you and I will too, you know. All of it,” Jennifer said firmly, tapping his chest to punctuate her meaning. She could hear his heart rate accelerate as he considered her words and smiled to herself. She wouldn’t deny that she loved the power she held over him, how enthusiastically he responded to her. 

After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “No haylofts, no fields, no workshops,” in a firm voice that invited no argument. “When I said I didn’t want it to be something rushed and hurried, out of sight, I meant it.”

Jennifer felt a thrum of heady anticipation race through her blood that warmed her from the inside out. Suddenly, her mouth was dry and her throat felt tight, the knowledge of what was before them rendering her speechless. 

\---

She needn’t have fret about their inevitable coupling, though. October roared in with a vengeance; the sky a bruised green-gray and oppressively low. The leaves turned their autumnal colors to the heavens but were quickly battered by incessant rain and windstorms that raged across the land, blown in from the sea. On the tail of this gloomy weather, sickness crept into the household. 

It got to Henry first, much to Jennifer’s horror. One day, he was his normal jubilant self, and the next he was as listless as a rag doll when she tried to wake him for his breakfast. She shook him, unaware of the panicked pitch of her shouts that brought Spencer tearing up the ladder into the loft. 

“What is it, what’s wrong?” he asked, striding over to the bed as Jennifer was still lost in her frenzy. Spencer grabbed her by her shoulders and held her still. 

“Jennifer, stop, just wait a moment, what happened?” he implored eagerly, directing her eyes toward his with a hand guiding her face toward his own. 

“He won’t wake up!” she babbled, “Oh God, he’s burning up and he won’t wake!” a sob punctuating her words as she clutched Henry’s limp form to her chest. Quickly, Spencer placed two fingers under Henry’s jaw and flipped his pocket watch open with the other, studying it intently. 

“We need to get him out of these clothes, Jennifer, they’re soaked. He’ll get hypothermia,” He said with authority resonant in his low voice. She nodded, lips and fingers quivering, as she stripped her beloved son of his sweaty pajamas and wrapped him tightly in a wool blanket. Spencer had to help her with that part, her shaking was so bad. 

“I’m going to carry him downstairs now, Jennifer. Do you hear me?” Spencer said, gently turning her head toward him. “His pulse is a little rapid, but it’s nothing we need to worry about right now. We need to get him into a lukewarm bath to even out his temperature, you understand?” Jennifer nodded; there was nothing she could do but trust in him. His voice was so assuring, so confident, and she was so lost. 

“Good. I need you to go down first, alright? Get the water running in the tub. The same temperature as your skin. No hotter, no colder.” 

Jennifer threw a desperate glance at Henry before doing as she was told, retreating down the ladder and nearly collapsing in her haste to get to the small bathroom. Her hands slipped on the taps as she cranked them on and waited impatiently for the temperature to be correct. Footsteps behind her echoed in the low room and she turned around to see Spencer carrying Henry gingerly, his brow furrowed with concern. Jennifer rushed over and grabbed her boy, dropping the blanket on the floor. 

“Slowly, slowly,” Spencer said. “Just lower him in and we’ll keep his head above water until he cools down.” Jennifer followed his instructions and when Henry was settled in the tub she finally broke down into noisy sobs. She rested her head against the porcelain rim of the tub as her hands held Henry upright and cried from fear and anguish. Spencer materialized at her side and replaced her hands with one of his own larger ones, able to support Henry better than she at his angle, anyway. 

“Shhh,” he soothed her, rubbing circles on the small of her back. Jennifer’s breathing slowly became more regular, her gasps turning to calmer respirations. There she knelt, watching and waiting with Spencer until it was time to get Henry out and bundle him off. 

Spencer dragged the faded settee closer to the fire in the living room and Jennifer quickly made it up as a bed as Diana fluttered around the corners of the room, pacing with anxiety. Jennifer wished she had a way to comfort the woman, but she was barely keeping her composure herself. 

Once Henry was settled beneath the covers and Jennifer was convinced he was not in immediate danger of dying, her wavering legs finally lost their battle to hold the rest of her body upright. All the energy drained out of her like water through a sieve and she collapsed to the ground in a heap. Spencer was immediately at her side, fingers probing and testing her joints to make sure she hadn’t broken anything. 

“Oh, love,” he crooned as he gathered her in his arms and held her close as Jennifer’s loud sobbing resumed. From somewhere behind her, Jennifer heard Diana’s low voice float toward her. 

“Spencer, she’s hysterical. Get this woman into a bed. I’ll be in with tea and brandy,” the woman said with finality. 

Wordlessly, Spencer rose to his feet, holding Jennifer with an arm underneath her knees and another supporting her back, and walked toward his bedroom. She’d only been in it a few times but was too distraught to look around with any interest. He lay her down on his bed gently and sat next to her, running soothing hands up and down her back. 

When Diana returned with a steaming mug, she took one appraising look at Jennifer and shook her head at Spencer. 

“Use your head, son, she’ll choke to death if she tries to drink anything when she’s shaking like this,” she chided. Jennifer didn’t see the stubborn glare Spencer shot his mother, but she felt the bed dip as he climbed up next to her. He settled her between his legs, her chest resting against his back as he leaned up against the headboard. Spencer’s arms wrapped around her like a vice, anchoring her solidly to him. 

Slowly, she started to relax in his grip. Her breathing became more measured and she could catch her breath for more than a second. Diana set the mug down on the wicker table next to Spencer’s bed; it was wedged between piles of books and papers he’d left there. 

“I’ll go sit with Henry,” she said. “She’s soaking wet now, too, from getting him in the bath. She shouldn’t be in that dress. And she needs to sleep. Don’t let her get hysteric again.” Diana instructed before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. 

“Here,” Spencer said quietly, reaching for the mug. “Give me your hand.” She let him guide her hand up to wrap around the clay. The steam from the tea was fragrant with brandy and the smell was calming in itself. Hesitantly, she took a sip of the hot liquid while Spencer steadied her elbow. 

“Good?” He asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her shoulder. Jennifer nodded and brought the mug back to her lips. Slowly but surely, she drank the contents down. The spiked drink warmed her, but the greater source of heat was Spencer’s comforting presence around and behind her. Dozily, she put the cup back down on the table next to her. 

A small, plaintive noise escaped her lips when Spencer moved to get out of the bed. The loss of his solid body behind her left her bereft and unmoored again. 

“Shhh. I’m just getting you some dry clothes,” he explained, his voice soft and slow like he was speaking to a small child or spooked animal. 

Jennifer watched him as he opened his armoire and pulled out a plain white shirt, so big she was sure it would almost come down to her knees. Spencer turned around with an apologetic look on his face. 

“I don’t want you to overheat or get tangled up,” he said by way of explanation. Jennifer nodded dumbly. She didn’t care what she wore; it was the last thing on her mind. Henry was lying unconscious on the other side of the wall and her heart jumped into her throat again. With a cry, she went to get out of the bed before Spencer’s strong hands at her shoulders pushed her back down on the mattress. 

“Please, you’re going to hurt yourself, Jennifer,” he pleaded with her. 

“You don’t understand,” she cried. “I have to go to him!” 

The pressure on her shoulders increased as Spencer drew her closer, hugging her to his abdomen and stroking the top of her head. 

“I know you think you do but I promise you, he needs his rest and so do you. Overly exciting yourself isn’t the way to help your son, Jennifer,” he told her. 

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she allowed herself to relax into him, sweet relief at having someone take control of the situation washing over her like a balm. Jennifer let him undo the buttons at her back, leaning against him exhaustedly. Spencer eased the garment off her shoulders and let the fabric pool at her waist. Jennifer shivered hard at the cool air on her exposed skin, which immediately broke out into goosebumps. Spencer quickly pulled his big shirt over her head and settled it around her torso before he lifted her gently and peeled the rest of her dress off the lower part of her body. 

Her knickers seemed to stymie him, however. They hadn’t escaped being soaked with the bathwater, but the bashful look on his face betrayed his nerves. Jennifer hooked her fingers in the waist of the undergarment and shimmied it down her thighs, kicking it onto the floor and pulling Spencer’s shirt as low as it could go. 

“You should try to sleep, Jennifer,” he said, rocking back on his heels. 

Her head shot up at this. “Don’t leave me,” she begged, reaching an imploring hand out to him. Their eyes met, hers swollen and red-rimmed, his clear and focused, the color of the brandy she just drank. 

“Please,” she repeated, desperate now. The idea of laying down in Spencer’s bed and waiting for dreams to claim her was abjectly terrifying. She didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t handle it. Her thoughts were erratic, jumping to worst-case scenarios and lingering there. 

“As you wish,” Spencer said quietly, his lithe fingers working the knot of his tie before moving onto the buttons of his waistcoat. Carefully, he laid his clothes across a high-backed chair. Next, he discarded his shoes and unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up to expose the defined sinew of his wrists and forearms. Gently, his eyes always on her, he climbed into the bed next to her. 

Jennifer let her body relax against the pillows with relief. Spencer's strong arms wound around her, tugging her into the shelter of his warm embrace. 

“I’m here. I’ve got you,” he whispered into her hair as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “You’re so strong, Jennifer, you’re such a fighter. Let me take care of you, please,” he entreated her. Spencer’s broad hand splayed over her midsection, holding her tight, the other curling at the base of her neck and resting there. Slowly, Jennifer’s eyes dropped shut and she lost herself in the steady thrum of his breath and his heart beating against her back. As she slept fitfully, Spencer watched her, studying her endlessly, memorizing every curve and line of her body, each quirk of her lips and gasps that escaped them. 

Her sleep was punctuated with scraps of dreams and tossing and turning. True to his word, Spencer held her close, chasing away her demons with his steady hold on her and his soft lips on her skin. He was struggling to keep his eyes open even with the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Jennifer’s body was so warm and soft in his arms and his proximity to her was intoxicating and he was powerless to resist. 

When she awoke in the weak light of dusk, Jennifer blinked blearily and rubbed her eyes, unsure of where she was for a moment. She felt a presence pressed against her back and for the briefest of moments she thought it was Will before she snapped back to reality. It was Spencer’s arm that was clasped around her waist, Spencer’s breath that was tickling the back of her neck, and Spencer’s bed she was laying in. 

Suddenly, it all came rushing back to her. She shot up in the bed and threw back the covers, her head spinning with the last of the brandy from her earlier tea. Jennifer’s hurried movements woke Spencer, who caught her wrist in one of his large hands before she could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, raspy with sleep. 

“No, Spencer,” she refused. “I have to see him,” she insisted, planting her bare feet on the floor and standing up with effort. 

“Alright, I understand,” he said. “Wait for me, I’ll come with you.”

In the living room, Jennifer was surprised to find the fire crackling warmly and Diana perched in a winged armchair at Henry’s head, crocheting in the dim light. 

“Oh good, you’re up,” the older woman said. “Spencer and I got him to drink some water at noon and take some broth and aspirin around three,” she concluded. Jennifer felt relief rush through her body at the news and knelt at her son’s side, stroking his soft hair. 

“I don’t know what happened,” she said softly. “He was fine yesterday and no one else is sick.” 

Spencer spoke up from his place in the corner. “It could have been something he got into outside. He could have drunk tainted water. I don’t think he ate anything poisonous, because we would have seen signs of systemic failure by now.”

Jennifer’s heart lurched at the word poison. “Are you certain?” She pressed, terror rising like a flood tide in her body. 

Spencer nodded at her before pushing off the wall and crossing the room to pull her up and into his arms. “The best thing we can do right now is keeping him hydrated, make sure his temperature stays at an appropriate level, and get nourishment into him when we can.” 

Jennifer turned in his arms to look at Diana gratefully. “Thank you for sitting with him. I don’t know how I would have managed without you. Either of you,” she added, snuggling closer to Spencer. 

“Nonsense,” Diana said crisply. “You’re family, and you’d be better off not standing on propriety and start realizing that we take care of our own.” 

Jennifer had to swallow a lump in her throat and blink back the tears that again threatened to fall. It was mind-boggling how people in town talked as if Diana Reid was insane and here Jennifer found her to be one of the most genuinely kind people on the face of the planet. 

Henry stirred on the sofa. “Mama?” he murmured, his child’s voice high and querulous. Jennifer gasped and fell to her knees once more at his side, kissing his forehead fervently. Where it had been hot and clammy earlier that day, it was cool and dry now. 

“His fever’s broken,” she said excitedly, looking up at Spencer with shining eyes. “Hello, darling,” she said to her son, stroking his cheek gently. 

“I feel funny, mama. I went swimming with Papa and he told me I couldn’t come with him and I had to come back and stay with you and Spencer,” he said. His words made Jennifer dizzy; had he seen Will too? Overcome, she crushed the child to her chest in a desperate embrace. 

“You’ve been sick, honey,” she said softly. “And you need your rest.” Spencer had come over to stand behind her. More than anything, Jennifer wished she could grab his hand for comfort, but she didn’t want to shock Henry or confuse him. 

Spencer cleared his throat. “Hello, kiddo,” he said kindly. “Do you think you could drink some milk for me?” He looked at Jennifer to explain that “his body needs the fat and the protein in the milk, and I don’t want to overload him with solid foods right now.”

Jennifer took her cue to pour Henry a glass of milk from the icebox in the kitchen. She was feeling more stable and didn’t worry about crashing to the floor as she navigated the house. 

To her surprise, Henry (historically not the best patient) listened to Spencer and drank his milk down, before allowing her to bundle him back up in blankets after a fresh change of clothes. His eyes dropping, Jennifer let her boy rest nestled in the sofa, the light of the fire burnishing his skin like a bronzed statue. Her heart ached as she sat at Henry’s feet and listened to the soft rasp of his breath. 

Diana retired to bed and Jennifer surprised them both by standing up to hug the woman. She couldn’t help herself; Diana had proven herself competent and maternal and Jennifer dearly wished she could rub it in the gossiping townfolks’ faces. 

Henry was slumbering on the couch as Spencer walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close. Jennifer didn’t even consider pulling away and just slumped back into Spencer’s solidly warm chest. She felt overwhelmed by all the things she needed to say to him; how to thank him for taking such good care of her and Henry. Instead, she just pressed herself closer to him and breathed in the comforting smell of him. 

“Let me ask you this, Jennifer,” he said softly. “Do you think I can convince you to return to the bedroom and get some rest?”

Jennifer would have snorted if she hadn’t been so bone tired. “Absolutely not,” she replied. “If Henry’s sleeping out here, so am I,” she said stoutly. She felt Spencer’s sigh rumble against her back. 

“Very well,” he said, giving her a squeeze before moving away. Spencer’s long legs took him to the sofa in two strides, and his movements were so fluid and confident that they almost took her breath away. In fact, she swayed on the spot when Spencer leaned down and lifted Henry into his strong arms, and straightened up. 

“If you won’t sleep without him, then I’m bringing him into my bedroom so you both can sleep in there,” he said, leaving no room for argument. Unable to muster the energy to protest, Jennifer followed him to his room. She hovered at the end of the bed as Spencer tenderly laid her boy on his bed, tucking the coverlet around him as gently as a mother would.

“Now will you rest?” He asked, eyes pleading. Jennifer chewed her bottom lip in thought, realizing they’d be taking his bed away from him. Deep down, she craved his arms around her as she slept, holding her close to him. The familiar anxiety rose to the surface again and Jennifer found she couldn’t speak, couldn’t verbalize what she needed. 

“Where will you sleep?” She asked in a small voice, twisting the end of her long braid in her fingers nervously. 

Spencer threw her a bemused glance. “Jennifer, it doesn’t matter where I sleep. I’ll sleep on the sofa, I’ll sleep on the floor. I am far more concerned with you and Henry’s sleeping arrangements.” 

Still, she didn’t move from her spot at the foot of the bed. 

“Jennifer, get in the bed,” Spencer said. Jennifer shook her head, struck dumb by her inability to be honest with him. Besides, she was scared he was beginning to grow tired of her, that impatience would win over and he’d want nothing more to do with her. The fear of abandonment clenched deep in her belly and sent ice rushing through her veins. 

Spencer sighed, arms akimbo. “What’s wrong, Jennifer?” 

Still, she couldn’t answer. A shadow of worry flitted through Spencer’s eyes. 

“Come on, say something,” he wheedled. “At least let me ensure you haven’t truly gone mute.”

A cry broke free of her clenched-teeth control. In an instant, Spencer had gathered her up in his arms and hugged her close to him. 

“Don’t leave,” was all she could muster through hiccuping sobs. Gently, he maneuvered her to the bed and tugged her down next to him. Spencer wrapped his arms around her once more and drew her to his chest. In turn, Jennifer drew Henry close to her breast and buried her head in his soft hair. He didn’t feel nearly as warm as he had earlier, to her great relief. The feeling of Spencer’s solid form flush against her back was so comforting that Jennifer felt her eyes droop almost instantaneously. 

The three of them laid entwined on the bed, nestled like Russian dolls against one another. Henry’s breathing was regular, not as raspy as it had been earlier, and the relief Jennifer felt was palpable. She felt Spencer’s lips moving at her neck; he was pressing soft kisses to the space behind her ear and at the nape of her neck where bare skin showed between her hair and his oversized shirt. The last thing she thought about before she dozed off was how naturally they three fit together.


	8. Patientia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Patientia** \- endurance
> 
> Jennifer, Spencer, and Henry take a trip to town and are introduced to a familiar face.

To Jennifer’s relief, Henry convalesced with all the resilience of childhood and was soon back to his normal self. To Spencer’s endless annoyance, they couldn’t determine what had sickened him in the first place. He’d spent several days cataloging all the plants and droppings Henry could have gotten into to no avail. 

Jennifer managed to keep Henry from overexerting himself by promising he could have chess lessons with Spencer; he took to those like a fish to water. Soon, she’d also been able to leverage the chess lessons as a reward for Henry completing his school work with her. He picked up the game with lightning quickness and looked forward to his lessons rabidly. 

Autumn marched steadfastly on, September bleeding into October. Jennifer spent an increasing amount of time in the small garden, harvesting vegetables and shoring up the beds for the winter. 

Apart from exchanging charged, longing glances, Jennifer and Spencer hadn’t had any intimate contact since Henry recovered. Of course, at first, Jennifer hadn’t been looking for more than Spencer’s solidly comforting embrace and the gentle kisses he pressed to her lips when Henry wasn’t around, but she was beginning to wonder if something had changed between them. Unwilling to ask lest her fears prove real, she busied herself with all the work of preparing a home for winter. 

One chilly morning when her breath was frozen clouds hanging in the air, Jennifer was lugging burlap sacks of potatoes into the root cellar when Spencer appeared, surprising her. First, she saw his shoes in the corner of her vision; even in the unforgiving October air, sweat was dripping into her eyes and making her vision blur. Straightening up, she wiped the sweat away with her arm, knowing she must be smearing dirt across her face and not caring a bit. Hands on her hips, she appraised the young man. His hair had grown an inch or two since she’d come to live with the Reids. It now brushed the hollows of his cheekbones but was longer still in the back. He was wearing a navy blue felt hat, the brim somewhat crushed. Jennifer knew he could be dressed in rags and she’d still think him the most compelling and handsome man she’d ever set eyes on. However, he was presently beginning to vex her. He still hadn’t said anything, the silence becoming a statement in itself. She cocked her hip and planted her hand, fixing him with a look she usually reserved for Henry. 

“What is it, Spencer? If you’re going to gawp in the dooryard then I’ll fill your mouth with birdseed and put you to work,” she said, pointedly. Spencer had the good grace to look chastened and cleared his throat. 

“You shouldn’t have to be carting around sacks of literal potatoes,” he blurted out as he tugged on the hem of his shirt; that was her cue that he was nervous or uncomfortable. But what could he have to be nervous or uncomfortable about? And what was this nonsense about her and the potatoes? If she didn’t get them into the cellar, who else would? Jennifer opened her mouth to tell him as much, but Spencer cut her off. 

“No, I’m not expressing myself clearly. What I meant to say is I’m sorry I’m not very good at helping you with things like this,” he said earnestly, gesturing at the piles of dirt and potatoes around her. “At first I thought I’d just observe you and see how you did things, your methods and habits. And then the more I got to watch you, the more I realized you’d probably spend all your time undoing what I inevitably would muck up. You have enough work to do around here without me adding to your burden. I suppose I felt inadequate, which then led to feelings of shame, and I didn’t know how to say it until now, so I just didn’t say anything,” he finished in a rush. 

Jennifer blinked owlishly at him, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. Spencer had worked himself into a frenzy over something that could have been resolved with a few words. Wryly, she smiled at her misplaced judgment. Didn’t she have just the same problem? She should cast the log out of her own eyes before she went picking on Spencer’s twigs. 

“I was worried you’d tired of me,” she said suddenly, impulsively, before clapping a hand over her mouth in surprise. Well, it was out in the open now, no way of taking it back. It was his turn to look surprised; Spencer’s mouth fell into a small ‘o’ of surprise. He walked toward her and crowded in close, then took her hand in his. 

“Tire of you?” he echoed incredulously. Jennifer nodded, meeting his eyes for a brief second before looking away from the intensity they held. She felt his finger underneath her chin as he lifted her face to look at his. 

“How could I tire of you? How could I tire of the sun?” he asked tenderly. Jennifer blushed furiously, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Spencer wouldn’t let her look away from him. She took several deep, shaky breaths, trying to steady herself. 

“I’m nothing, Spencer. I’m a nobody,” she whispered. His eyes darkened stormily at this utterance and she could see a muscle in his chiseled jaw twitch. 

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that again,” Spencer said with authority ringing clear in his voice that shook Jennifer like thunder. His hands were at her shoulders, shaking her gently to emphasize his meaning. “You’re not nothing, you’re everything,” he breathed before crushing his lips to hers in a searing kiss. Their lips moved in tandem until she had to break away and gasp for air. 

This time, the sting in her eyes was actual tears threatening to fall. Jennifer tilted her head up toward the sky in a bid to keep them from spilling over her cheeks. She’d spent a lot of time crying in front of Spencer already, and she didn’t want it to turn into a habit. But if he kept saying such unimaginably heartfelt and tender things, she’d have a hard time keeping that resolution, she noted to herself. Spencer seemed to understand without her saying anything how badly she needed to keep her dignity in that moment, and with a final brush of his hand against her cheek, he took a step back to give her space. 

After a moment’s silence, he said, “Can I help you with the potatoes, though?” and Jennifer let out a gurgle of laughter at his timing. Still chuckling, she showed the doctor how she liked to sort the potatoes into the sacks roughly by size to save herself the discomfort of having to sort them after they’d already been brought to the cellar. They worked together companionably in the weak light of morning, chatting of this and that. He was surprised to learn that she enjoyed playing the piano and in turn, she goaded him into revealing more sleight of hand tricks. 

Jennifer took a brief sojourn to the kitchen to prepare a lunch of cold sandwiches and baked potatoes for their small family before joining Henry and Spencer at the grassy ledge overlooking the cove and the sea beyond it. 

The threesome was munching on their food and discussing The Odyssey, which Jennifer had recently finished reading to Henry. “Did you know that when Homer wrote of his ‘wine-dark sea’, it was because the Greeks didn’t have a word to describe the color of the ocean like it is now, right before a mid-autumn storm?” 

Henry peered up at Spencer doubtfully. “Well, I’ve never seen any wine that looks like the ocean,” the boy said, not convinced. Jennifer couldn’t help but chuckle; Henry had Spencer with that one. 

“Perhaps the Greeks didn’t drink very good wine,” Spencer said with a sly grin. “I must say I don’t remember any particularly outstanding wines the last time I visited.”

“You’ve been to Greece?” Henry nearly toppled off the embankment in excitement, and Jennifer had to tug on his shirttails to get him to sit back down before he launched into an implacable line of questioning about antiquity sites and minotaurs, which absolutely delighted Spencer. Jennifer laid back in the grass and crossed her hands behind her head as a makeshift pillow. The clouds in the sky were threatening rain, though it was still too high in the clouds for it to be an immediate worry. Their bruised undersides seemed to press down against her, pinning her to the ground. Jennifer shut her eyes in surrender and let her mind follow Spencer and Henry’s voices through the haze in her skull. 

Through the fog, she heard Henry’s voice calling “Mama!” so Jennifer propped herself back up on her elbows to look at her son. The boy, along with Spencer, was looking at her with concern in their eyes. 

“Are you sick, Mama?” Henry asked, fear tingeing the edges of his voice. 

“Are you sure you feel alright, Jennifer?” echoed Spencer with equal concern. She must not have heard them talking to her the first time they tried to get her attention. Jennifer couldn’t remember them speaking to her, though. 

“I’m fine,” she said, trying for a reassuring smile. By the looks on their faces, she hadn’t quite succeeded. “Really, I was just daydreaming, I promise.” 

This appeased Henry, but Spencer was still giving her a sidelong look. Jennifer smiled again, trying to show him she really was fine. In truth, she’d been floating in her mind and had completely lost the plot of the conversation. 

“I think I’ll come into town with you tomorrow if you don’t mind leaving earlier than we usually do for Mass,” Jennifer said, aiming to change the subject. Immediately, Henry’s ears perked up. 

“Can I get candy at the store, Mama, please? If I behave?” he pleaded. She smiled affectionately at him and ruffled his hair.

“Of course, dear one. But you had better behave, or I’ll buy you cod liver oil instead,” she teased. Henry made a gagging noise and ran toward the trees bordering the house. 

“Henry, you should probably take cod liver oil regardless, as it guards against rickets,” Spencer shouted after him. Henry shrieked and hid behind a tree. At this, Spencer got to his feet. Jennifer was always so surprised by the way he’d sometimes move with such grace and other times be as clumsy as an ox. A true gentleman, he offered her his hand and pulled up so she could stand as well.

Overlooking the ocean, the two young adults stood with barely a foot between them. Spencer still held Jennifer’s hand in his own, stroking his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. Absently, Jennifer thought that he must notice how rough the flesh there was; years of dishwashing and working in gardens had ruined any aspirations for silken ladylike skin. Spencer’s fingertips were calloused too, though, no doubt from years of grasping pens and turning the pages of his beloved books. 

“Is there anything specific you need in town?” Spencer asked as they turned to walk back to the house with their fingers intertwined and hidden from Henry’s view. Jennifer thought for a moment. She thought she might take a look at Fogg’s General Store and see if they had any particularly pretty yarn or embroidery thread, and she did need a few bolts of fabric for some heavier weight house dresses. Of course, Henry was growing like a weed and although she’d been able to keep letting the hems of his trousers out, she was running out of options for his shoes, especially with winter coming up. 

“I’d just like to browse at Fogg’s, there are a few things I need for Henry and myself. Besides, I’d like to pick up some white sugar and more tea,” she remarked. She wouldn’t mind a walk around the square, either, and Henry always liked to watch the fish ladder and the big water wheels at the mills. 

“D’you think you’ll visit your family?” Spencer asked, causing Jennifer to stop short in her tracks. Spencer turned around and gave her a quizzical glance. It took her a moment since she was opening and closing her mouth like a fish caught up in the ladder downtown, but she finally managed to squeak out a reply. 

“I...I don’t think I’d be very welcome, to be frank,” she stammered. “I made the mistake of stopping by their house when Henry and I got back from New Orleans and I was surprised she didn’t slam the door in my face.” 

Spencer was studying her, chewing his lip in thought. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said quietly. “It’s just that I see how family-oriented you are, how much you care for my mother and for Henry, and I just thought you’d like to see your actual family.”

Jennifer laughed bitterly. “Henry is what’s left of my family. The rest is at the bottom of the ocean.”

Belatedly, she realized that she might have been harsh or crude, judging by the look that shot over Spencer’s face. 

“I’m so sorry, that wasn’t very ladylike of me,” she apologized, flushing with shame. She hadn’t intended for Spencer to see the ugliness that roiled in her just beneath the surface, and yet it had slipped out so easily. 

“You don’t have to apologize for telling the truth, Jennifer,” he said, holding her gaze unwaveringly with his. “And you don’t have to apologize for feeling strongly about the death of your husband and your relationship with your mother,” Spencer finished emphatically. 

Again, Jennifer found herself flummoxed and not sure how to respond to Spencer’s concise and often prescient analyses of human behavior. She settled on “Alright, then,” and walked over the threshold into the house to finish her mending. 

She rose early the following morning, not having slept well during the night. Jennifer had been plagued by dreams of Will floating on the currents of the Saco River, his body crushed to bits by the mill machinery while she watched. Even Henry’s sweetly sleeping form in bed next to her did little to slow her anxiously pounding heart. Giving up on sleep, she crawled out of bed and made her way to the kitchen to put the coffee on. Jennifer could see Spencer was already awake; the lamps were lit in his workshop and there was a wisp of smoke crawling from its narrow chimney. 

Jennifer prepared the coffee, trying her damndest to focus completely on each step of the process to keep her thoughts from wandering off someplace dangerous. For the dream hadn’t ended with Will’s mangled body in the river; dream-Jennifer had jumped in after him and had the distinct remembrance of looking up through the rushing water to see Spencer and Henry standing hand-in-hand on the shore. It had rocked her completely, leaving an aching sensation in her chest that felt like a sucking wound. She couldn’t let herself down the path that led to considering what the dream had actually meant if it meant anything at all because she was afraid of what she’d discover about herself. Jennifer had to swallow bile back down before taking small sips of her scalding coffee to steady herself. She certainly needed Mass today, not only for Confession but to simply be in hallowed space, space where the only water was the Holy Water she’d dip her fingers in and the only blood was the Blood of Christ. 

Her first cup of coffee finished, Jennifer set a pan of milk to heat up for Henry’s porridge before ascending back up the ladder to dress them both for church. This Sunday, she’d chosen a smart taffeta in a gray and maroon tartan half-bustle skirt with pintucks at the waist and a dun-colored Gibson blouse. She woke Henry up next, once she’d finished all her toilette besides pinning her braid in a coil at the nape of her neck and settling her hat on her head (she’d learned early on that sometimes waking Henry up ended with her hatless and more or less rumpled). This morning, however, he was in a sweet and cuddly mood, and she spent close to ten minutes holding him close to her chest. It was time for them to get on the road though if they wanted to make Mass on time. 

She had Henry eat his breakfast in just his short pants so he wouldn’t get porridge all over his Sunday clothes, of which he’d need a new set before the year was out. Glancing through the wavy glass of the kitchen window she noted that the fire in Spencer’s workshop had been put out. He must have been hitching Celeste to the buggy, which gave her just enough time to get Henry dressed and wipe his face. 

When they exited the house by the front door to meet Spencer in the yard with the horse and buggy, Jennifer was gratified to see desire flash across his face before he graced her with a brilliant smile. 

“You two look as if you just walked out of La Mode Ilustree!” Spencer said, laughing as he came around the vehicle to help Jennifer up to the seat after Henry had clambered in. 

“And you are quite the comedian,” Jennifer teased back, shooting him a grin. 

Spencer protested, saying “No, no! I really did mean it. You look absolutely wonderful,” he finished softly, with another smile over Henry’s head, just for her. Jennifer truly enjoyed the rides to St. Brendan’s with Spencer every week. She didn’t know why she was surprised that he was such a natural horseman, but she was. Perhaps it was his quiet and gentle nature, but Celeste was as biddable as a lamb when he was at the reins. 

“What will you do while Henry and I are at Mass?” she asked him, curious. Since he usually went into town while they were in the church, she wondered what he’d do this time. 

“I brought some books,” he said, casually patting a worn leather rucksack that Jennifer eyed with bemusement. It was positively filled with books, far too many for any one person to read in the space of a single morning Mass. 

“You’re not really going to read them all, are you Spencer?” Henry piped up from between them. 

“Oh, maybe just two or three,” Spencer answered, still just as casual, as if he didn’t have a veritable lending library in his satchel. 

“Honest promise?” Henry asked, still dubious. Jennifer couldn’t blame him; she knew that Spencer had a formidable intellect and he was surely the most intelligent person she’d ever met in her whole life but surely no one could read more than one of those books in the space of an hour. To her surprise, she could see the beginnings of a blush creep up Spencer’s neck. 

“I’m a fast reader,” he said quietly and Jennifer could sense that for some reason, he was eager to change the subject. 

“Anything new and interesting?” she asked, trying to shift the topic to the content of the books rather than their existence. This did seem to perk him up, and Spencer excitedly told them about an exciting book by a Mr. Ebenezer Howard describing a world free of slums and urban blight. 

“He calls them garden cities and they’re intended to best serve the needs of individuals and the greater community alike. Howard identifies key components of both urban and rural settings and proposes a unique combination of the two to promote the growth and development of our society at large,” Spencer explained, his speech animated and excited. Jennifer loved watching him talk about something he was excited about, even though sometimes his words rushed together and he’d run out of breath in the middle of run-on sentences. She wanted Henry to find something to be equally passionate about with all her heart, and she thought that Spencer often made her want to be a better person herself. 

“So what would that look like?” Jennifer found herself curious about the subject.

“You’d need roughly nine thousand acres on a full-scale trail, and there would be concentric circles of open green space, farmland, industrial sites, and park space, with six radial boulevards,” Spencer explained, facts flying rapid-fire. “When the population reaches its terminal capacity of fifty-eight thousand people, satellite cities would spring up, linked by rail.”

This certainly caught Henry’s attention; he’d been quite enamored of trains lately. “I could be an ashcat on the locomotive!” he said excitedly. “Did you know they call the firemen ashcats because they have to move as quick as a cat and they get black with soot?” the boy asked Spencer, tugging on his shirt. Jennifer stayed his hand and scolded him for interrupting someone with reins in their hand. 

“I did know that, Henry,” Spencer admitted. “But I’m very impressed that YOU know the origins of the term. You’re very clever for a boy so young,” he said fondly, nudging him with an elbow and smiling down at him. Henry was beaming with pride at being recognized by his idol, clearly basking in the praise. Jennifer felt guilt twist in her belly like a knife; Henry so clearly flowered under Spencer’s kind attention, and she knew he deserved a father figure. 

Fortunately, she was spared from pondering more upon this as they turned up the sloping drive toward St. Brendan’s. The stone edifice rose proudly from the brown grass crowning the gentle hills surrounding the building. Parishioners were milling about the steps in their Sunday finery though Jennifer did spy fewer ostrich feathers in ladies’ hats than she had earlier in the season. The wealthy summer residents had all repaired to Boston or New York or Providence, leaving the townsfolk to scrape by during the meager winter months. She was beginning to recognize familiar faces in the crowd of worshipers and feeling more comfortable at the church. 

Spencer pulled Celeste to a stop at the edge of the circle drive in front of St. Brendan’s, lifting Henry to the ground before offering his hand to Jennifer. Facing each other, he had his hands stuffed in his pockets after letting go of hers and was shuffling his feet. Was he nervous, she wondered? He kept throwing glances at the church and then back at her, then down to the ground. 

“I’ll be waiting for you here when you’re done with Mass,” Spencer finally said. Jennifer nodded, casting her thoughts about whatever was going on with him out of her head. She steered Henry by the shoulders up the stairs and through the doors into the nave, signing herself with fingers dipped in Holy Water. She espied a line of parishioners waiting for Confession and suddenly realized she was not up for stewing with her thoughts while imagining everyone judging her for sins so significant she felt the need to confess. Instead, she and Henry found a pew and knelt, she with her rosary beads and Henry watching her intently. 

Mass began and Jennifer was happy to lose herself in the familiar rhythms that were written in her bones, drifting through the service like the incense smoke floating through the air. When it was time to receive Communion, she brought Henry up with her to receive a blessing from the priest after she took the Host and the wine. Even just being present during the service was enough to comfort her soul and calm her turbulent thoughts. It felt like a refreshing splash of water on a hot summer day. She didn’t even have to remind Henry to sit still and listen during the homily; he was listening with rapt attention to the priest tell the story of feeding the multitude. Jennifer was sure she would have to field questions about miraculously multiplying loaves and fishes, but she didn’t mind. 

After the doxology was sung, the congregation filed out of the church into the chilly October air. Jennifer and Henry walked out hand in hand as she searched the crowd of buggies and families for Spencer’s lanky form. True to his word, he was sitting in the buckboard reading his book. As they approached, Jennifer could see he was turning the pages every few seconds or so. Drawing closer, she could see his lips moving as he read, something that endeared him to her immediately. It was so child-like and innocent. He snapped the book shut and smiled wide at the two of them as they walked up to the wagon. 

“How was Mass?” he asked, stuffing his book back in his rucksack and helping Henry and then Jennifer up to the seat. 

“Jesus fed the thousands with just a few loaves and fishes, did you know?” Henry asked Spencer excitedly. Jennifer was worried that Spencer’s adherence to the church of reason and science would lead him to tell Henry that this was impossible and that God and Jesus didn’t exist. She needn’t have been anxious, though, because all Spencer did was return Henry’s enthusiasm and launch into an explanation of the aquacultural compilation of the Sea of Galilee. 

As they rattled towards town, Jennifer felt apprehension growing in the pit of her stomach. It had been months since she’d been to town; she’d been content to let Spencer run all the errands and manage all the shopping. It wasn’t that she was scared she’d run into her mother; no, Sandrine Jareau did not frequent the shops or markets often. Or at least she hadn’t when Jennifer and Roslyn were living in the family home, she had them run all the errands while she lorded over the house with an iron fist. Jennifer was unsure how her mother managed the household now that there were no daughters at home. It was this uncertainty that sparked her anxiety. She couldn’t be sure who her mother associated with and this was why she felt safer back at the Reid house. 

Traffic grew thicker as they got closer to Biddeford proper, broughams now mixing with buckboards and more pedestrians along the way as well. Jennifer kept her back straight and her hands clasped in her lap demurely, though inside she felt like jumping out of the buckboard and running in the opposite direction. Spencer seemed to sense her discomfort and shot a concerned glance her way. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came out as more of a pained grimace. He shifted Celeste’s reins to one hand and placed his large hand on her knee, giving her a comforting squeeze. She wished she could grab his hand tightly and hold it...but she knew she wasn’t ready to explain the shift in her and Spencer’s relationship to Henry, let alone have word of it get back to her mother. Jennifer shuddered at the thought of this. You’re a whore and you know it, she heard her mother’s voice in her head. 

Mercifully, they were approaching Fogg’s General Store and Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief. She felt exposed riding through the crowds, though logically she knew no one was looking at her. Again, Spencer helped her down off the bench and she felt warmth spread from where their fingers touched. Henry was practically levitating with excitement at the opportunity to pick out some candy like she had promised him. With an admonishment not to touch anything expensive, break anything, or pester anyone, Jennifer let her son race ahead of them into the store, shouting with glee. She and Spencer followed at a slower pace, and she allowed him to take her arm as they walked into the store. 

Fogg’s General Store was longer than it was wide with stamped tin ceilings and hewn floors were worn smooth by generations of customers. Bins were nailed to the wall holding sundries and there were countless bolts of fabric on rolls that immediately caught her eye. She spied a gorgeous butterscotch velveteen that looked as soft as a doe. Doing some quick arithmetic in her head, Jennifer thought she might be able to afford enough of the fabric for a shirtwaist if she was prudent about the rest of her spending. Keeping this in the back of her mind, she turned to the bolts of serviceable corduroy and denim. She knew she’d better get more than a few yards; Henry was growing like a weed. She chose a deep brown fabric for its ability to hide stains, and Spencer was kind enough to inform her that darker fabrics held on to heat better, so it would be a good choice for winter trousers. 

Henry, for his part, was darting up and down the aisles as fast as his little legs could carry him. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he took in all the sweets and novelties lining the shelves. 

“Remember, Henry, I’ve given you two pennies for candy. You’ll have to choose wisely, now,” she called to him. 

“Two pennies is a lot of candy, Mama,” he said seriously, surveying the selection with the practiced eye of a connoisseur. She laughed and craned her neck to see if she could spot Spencer. He was intently comparing pen nibs on a scrap of paper and seemed not to notice anyone else. Jennifer eyed the shopkeeper from under her lashes. When she visited the store growing up, it had been run by the Greenaway family. They had a daughter around her age, Elle, who often worked the counter, but Jennifer didn’t see her today. An older man of about fifty was behind the brass cash register today and she approached him to make her fabric purchase. It would take a bit of time for him to cut and wrap her choices. 

Turning from the counter, she spotted an old upright piano pushed up against a far wall. A bubble of something that felt akin to happiness started to fill her chest as she ran her fingers over the dusty chestnut wood. The ivory keys were yellowed with age but seemed to sing under her touch with energy. Jennifer sat down on the narrow bench as if she were in a trance and placed her hands over the keys. She closed her eyes and began to play; the movements ingrained in her muscles since childhood. The notes of “Amazing Grace” sounded a little tinny plunked out on the old instrument but there was nothing like sitting and playing for the first time in ages. She lost herself in the music, singing the words of the hymn softly, and didn’t notice Spencer come up and stand at the side of the piano. 

When she finished the song, he burst into raucous applause and shouted ‘Brava!’ in a ridiculous Italian accent that made her laugh out loud when she turned and looked at him. 

“I believed you when you said you could play, but you didn’t mention anything about singing!” he scolded her playfully. She smiled sheepishly up at him. Her voice wasn’t anything special, really, but she did enjoy singing. 

“I never thought it worth mentioning,” she admitted. Spencer looked at her incredulously. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he accused. Jennifer laughed again. 

“I swear I haven’t, there’s just not been much time for singing in my life lately,” she explained with a giggle. 

“We’ll have to do something about that,” Spencer said resolutely. “I think Henry’s made his final decisions with his candy, and I believe your fabric has been cut and wrapped for you.”

“Oh!” Jennifer said in surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting around while I was over here playing.”

“No, no, it was...well, it was amazing, truthfully,” he said, eyes glinting at the pun. “I could listen to your voice for the rest of my life.”

Jennifer blushed hotly again and cleared her throat. “You’re too kind, really,” she demurred. Once the purchases were under Spencer’s arm and Henry was happily working on a massive lollipop, the threesome made their way out of Fogg’s store. Spencer had to meet an acquaintance at the Union Hotel; the man kept an eye on Spencer’s correspondence and interests in town, apparently, and kept him apprised of any noteworthy developments. A quick visit to the grocer was all she needed to drop her list and pay for her goods. The employee assured her that her order would be ready by the time Spencer was done at the hotel, a fact for which Jennifer was filled with gratitude. She was very eager to return to the homestead and found herself discomfited by the crush of humanity in the city. 

The Union Hotel was an imposing brick building in the Federal style and was where Will had stayed when he had come to Biddeford. Jennifer felt a pang of sadness as she remembered the time they two had spent there. The lobby was quite luxurious, she noted; the last time she had been here she had seen far more of the inside of the bedrooms than the more public areas. Spencer strode confidently to the counter where a very handsome light-skinned Black man was standing in a crisp burgundy uniform. Jennifer was only a bit surprised at his presence; her time in New Orleans had introduced her to people from many different parts of the country, and the world, and she loved the melting pot aspect of that city. Growing up in Biddeford, she did not recall seeing very many Black families, though there were a few who lived on the western side of the city. 

At the counter, Spencer introduced her to his acquaintance. “Derek Morgan, may I present Mrs. Jennifer LaMontagne and her son Henry,” he said politely. The man, Mr. Morgan, gave her a courteous bow and flashed her a stunning and friendly smile that immediately warmed her insides. 

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” she said. He was roughly Spencer’s height, maybe an inch taller. 

“I’m sure the pleasure is most entirely mine, Mrs. LaMontagne. I had no notion that Dr. Reid here kept such stunning company, or I would make the trip out to the Gut far more often,” he said in a friendly tone that let her know he was not being lecherous or improper, simply teasing Spencer. 

“You’d get bored before you spent a day out there, Morgan, and you know it,” Spencer replied in an equally jocular tone. 

“Oh, Pretty Boy, I know you’re right about that,” Morgan said. “And you’d have to find some other sucker to sort your mail.”

“Hey! That’s not all our partnership consists of, Jennifer, I swear it,” he said to her. 

“I’m just pulling your leg, kid,” Morgan said. “I don’t have much for you in terms of letters today, except for this one from Dr. Gideon, which came with a letter for me attached, in fact,” he finished, holding up the envelopes. 

Spencer grabbed his letter, ripped open the envelope, and had read it seemingly before Jennifer could blink. Next to her, Henry was also staring at Spencer in amazement, blue-stained mouth hanging open in wonderment. 

“And you agree to make the necessary introductions?” Spencer asked Morgan, who nodded. 

“He and his family stayed here while they were waiting for the Strauss family to move out to Arundel. We’ve spoken before, and it sounds as if he’s very keen to meet you.” Morgan gave Spencer a pointed glance. “And I suppose if Dr. Gideon decided to send him your way…” he trailed off, still looking at Spencer, who nodded at the other man. 

“Then he’s worth meeting with,” Spencer said. Jennifer watched all of this silently, not a clue as to what or who they were discussing. She knew the name Strauss but thought that their children must have been much younger than her. And apparently, they had moved away to Arundel and someone else had moved into their house, someone Spencer was to meet on the recommendation of his old mentor, Gideon. 

“Will you arrange it, Morgan?” Spencer asked, leaning on the polished wood of the hotel counter, his voice dropping lower so no passersby could hear him. “He can call on me at my office at home, any day this week. If I haven’t heard from him a week from now, we’ll track him down and see what this is all about.”

The darker man nodded his assent and jotted a few figures down on a sheet of paper with a pencil. “And these are the figures you requested I look into last week,” he said, pushing the paper to Spencer who surveyed them and nodded. 

“Very good. I’ll have to get back to you on those,” he said. “I’m sure Mrs. LaMontagne is eager to collect our order from the grocers and get back home. I swear she’s the only thing that keeps our house running,” Spencer said, smiling down at her fondly. Morgan’s eyes darted between the two of them and a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing besides polite goodbyes and a promise to come for tea sometime soon. 

Jennifer was terribly curious about what Spencer and Morgan had been talking about, but she was far too polite to ask. It wasn’t her business after all, and if Spencer wanted to tell her, he would. Henry had finished his lollipop and she was obliged to wash his hands and sticky face off at a fountain on the street corner. 

Their groceries collected and packed into the brougham, they rattled off up Pool Street back east toward the shore. There was a chill in the air and Jennifer could see tendrils of fog trailing in from the water. It would be a cold night and she would have to make sure there was a good, hot fire that would burn down into decent coals and embers to keep them warm throughout the night. Worn out by the day’s exertions, Henry had fallen asleep under her arm, pressed against her side and snoring softly. They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the only noises from the wheels clattering on along the road and the creaking of Celeste’s tack as she carried them home. 

As they rounded the corner past St. Brendan’s, Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Jennifer?” glancing at her sideways. 

“Yes, Spencer?” she answered, absently playing with Henry’s blond curls as she watched the scenery go by. 

“I’m expecting a guest this week, as I’m sure you gathered from my conversation with Mr. Morgan. I don’t want you to think I expect you to entertain him or make any special effort,” he said. 

Jennifer accidentally laughed aloud at that statement from Spencer. When he looked at her in surprise, she explained, “Spencer, darling, I’m your housekeeper. Taking care of guests is the great majority of that job description, you know.” 

He sighed, in exasperation with her, she wondered? But no, that didn’t really seem to be why. 

“Jennifer, you know you’re so much more than my housekeeper,” he said quietly, with great intensity. “I hope you don’t think that I...that I expect some sort of...arrangement,” Spencer spit out bitterly, cutting himself off and snapping Celeste’s reins just a bit. 

It was her turn to sigh now. “I don’t always think the worst of you, Spencer,” she said, looking at the side of his head as he stared resolutely down the road and away from her. “I was just remarking that regardless of our relationship, I’m still your housekeeper. And more than that...I mean, if I weren’t your housekeeper and we were, that is, if you and I…” he was looking at her now, certainly, and she was blushing fiercely. “Well, anyway, I enjoy entertaining guests. Truly, I do. It’s something I love to do, in fact,” she assured him, trying to smooth over the part where she’d almost said ‘if you and I were married’ and hoping he’d not say anything. He didn’t say anything, thankfully, but Jennifer saw a smile quick as lightning flash across Spencer’s face when he comprehended the implication behind her stuttered words and her flushed cheeks. 

A few more turns before their own gravelly drive were spent in silence, though Jennifer’s heart was pounding and she imagined she could hear the heated energy between her and Spencer buzzing audibly. Her mouth was dry as parchment and her nerve endings were tingling, not an altogether unpleasant sensation. 

Spencer pulled Celeste to a stop and turned in his seat on the buckboard to look at her over Henry’s head. He cupped her cheek in one of his strong, slightly chapped hands and smiled at her. “If you weren’t my housekeeper, Jennifer....” as her breath caught in her chest and stuck there. She was frozen to the spot; the only thing tethering her to reality was the pressure of his skin against her own. If she weren’t his housekeeper, she thought to herself, they’d probably have been wedded and bedded by now. The bedding part of that thought sent a jolt through her body and she suddenly remembered they were still sitting in the brougham in the drive outside the house with Henry snoozing between them. 

Quickly, she shook Henry awake and tugged him out of the brougham behind her as she rushed to physically distance herself from the sensations she was wracked with when she was in Spencer’s presence. The boy was yawning and protesting, but she was determined to get him inside so she could retreat upstairs to her loft and calm herself down. Jennifer knew if she didn’t put some space between her and Spencer, she’d be helpless to resist her attraction to him. Now, at the precipice of the very knowledge of what they were circling around itself, all the heady anticipation she’d been feeling had morphed into anxiety seizing her heart. She left Spencer sitting in the brougham holding Celeste’s reins, looking after her with a puzzled expression on his face. 

Once she and Henry were inside, Jennifer climbed up to their lofted space and tossed her hat on the table, not even bothering to put it right back in its box as was her usual custom. Instead, she indulged in behavior very much unlike her and allowed herself to collapse fully clothed on the bed and stare up at the ceiling aimlessly. Her body ached for Spencer, and her soul did too. Jennifer groaned and buried her head in her pillow. If she wasn’t careful, she’d drive herself completely insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry this took so long and is also significantly longer than other chapters! I had a very hard time finding a stopping point. American history tells us that the majority of folks' attitudes and behaviors towards Black people in the late 19th/early 20th century were racist, even if not intentionally so. You can fault me for inaccuracy all you'd like, but I refuse to write racism into this fic. There's enough of it to go around already. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, for coming along with me on this. I'm truly enjoying writing for y'all.


	9. Concordia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Explicit sexual content ahead** \- as always if you'd like to read a version of this chapter without the sexual bits, please message me and I'll get it to you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Concordia_ unity ; "Love almost replaces thought. Love is a burning forgetfulness of everything else."-Victor Hugo, Les Miserables

The sun was setting in the west earlier and earlier, Jennifer mused, as she watched it sink below the tree line over the marsh. Soon, it would start getting dark at 4 and the days would shorten into the long winter season. It wasn’t that she minded winter; the homestead was relatively well-stocked for not having a garden in the spring. Jennifer made a mental note to ask Spencer where he kept his shotgun. She thought she might try to shoot a deer or maybe a turkey. In truth, she was actually a very good shot, but she didn’t know how she’d fare shooting a bird out of the sky, and her snubnosed silver revolver wouldn’t be much good for that either. 

Before Will got on the train that took him away from her forever, he’d taught her how to shoot and care for a revolver. As she sat on their velveteen sofa in the New Orleans humidity with Henry napping fitfully in the parlor, he carefully showed her each part of the gun; how to load it and keep it oiled so it would work when she needed it to. 

“I pray you never have cause to use it, cher, but I’m loathe to leave you and the baby without any means of protection,” he had said, bright eyes serious. He’d taken her out to their and set up glass bottles for her to practice shooting at. Jennifer remembered how at home she felt the first time she held the gun. If she’d had it four years earlier, she’d have been able to do something about the men who raped Roslyn. The mechanics of shooting made sense to her too: a breath in as she cocked the trigger, and a release as she squeezed the trigger. The recoil wasn’t as bad as she expected, and with her feet planted firmly on the ground it barely moved her. 

Over and over again, Will watched her shoot the gun. He moved the bottles back twenty paces and had her shoot at those, and then hung bottles from trees and had her aim at those. He’d laughed out loud as she shot bottle after bottle he put in front of her. 

“I declare, you are a crack shot!” He’d chortled, chucking her under the chin affectionately. “Annie Oakley had best watch her back while you’re around!” She’d flushed at his praises; Will always had a way with his words that made her feel warm inside. 

“And I will say I do feel better shipping off down to the islands knowing you’re not entirely defenseless,” he said. Jennifer would have preferred he not leave in the first place, but his mind was made up. Will’s sense of duty was one of the things she loved most about him, and she couldn’t in all reality ask him to stay behind for her. 

The revolver and all the prayers Jennifer could muster did little good against the onward March of fate, and with the blast of a Spanish cannon, Jennifer’s life was irrevocably altered. 

And none of it mattered, she thought to herself wryly, because if she didn’t stop daydreaming and find out where Spencer kept his shotgun they’d have nothing to think about that winter except how hungry they were. 

Sighing, she laid down the seemingly endless mending and stood up from the sofa, cracking her back. She had a crick in her muscles from sitting in one position for too long, and she had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. Henry and Jennifer had been living with the Reids for several months now, but she couldn’t recall seeing a shotgun or a rifle anywhere in the house. She’d have to ask Spencer. Glancing outside, she shuddered. A nor’easter was blowing again and the steel gray waves were capped with white foam. Jennifer wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and pulled it over her head before using her shoulder to shove the door open against the howling wind. 

The scant yards from the kitchen door to Spencer’s workshop took her more time than usual to cross, fighting against the wind as she was. When she reached the door of the workshop she gripped it tight so it wouldn’t blow open, but the gusts of wind were too strong for her. The door flew open with a bang and Jennifer stumbled across the threshold with leaves swirling around her feet. Spencer’s head shot up from where he’d been craning over his books and he jumped to his feet to steady her. 

“It’s blowing to beat the band,” Jennifer huffed out, letting Spencer hold her by the elbow and give her a once over. “Where d’you keep your rifle?”

Spencer blinked at her owlishly and didn’t answer. She tried again. 

“Your gun? I haven’t come across it yet.”

Still, no response. Jennifer arched an eyebrow at him, hands on her hips expectantly. For a brief moment, she imagined she could see the cogs whirring in Spencer’s head. Finally, he answered. 

“I haven’t seen it in years. It’s not even mine, it was my father’s. I imagine it’s with his belongings,” he said. 

Now it was Jennifer’s turn to blink in surprise. Mr. Reid had been dead for some time, and yet Spencer didn’t know where his gun was? Sure, they lived far from town and she couldn’t think of anyone who’d bother a sick old woman and her erudite son, but it did seem like a gamble. After all, Jennifer knew there were bears, coyotes, and fisher cats in the woods. 

“Is there something wrong?” Spencer asked, concern furrowing his brow.

Jennifer shook her head. “‘No, not at all. I was just wondering where you kept the gun because I thought we might have some game this winter. I’d quite like to eat something besides salt pork, wouldn’t you?”

For some reason, Spencer’s cheeks colored and he looked at the floor, scuffing his foot back and forth. 

“I’m not a very good shot,” he mumbled, shamefaced. Jennifer couldn’t help but smile at his hangdog expression. 

“That’s alright, Spencer. I am,” she said airily. He looked at her in confusion. 

“You are, what?”

“A very good shot,” she said, grinning at him. This time Spencer smiled back and drew her close to him in a tight embrace. 

“Of course you are,” he chuckled, smoothing a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and kissing the crown of her head. “I am not in the habit of being surprised, but I’ve come to expect it with you.” 

Jennifer leaned back in his arms and gazed up at his entirely too handsome face. Spencer’s eyes were liquid honey and they filled her with an indescribable warmth and longing that rushed along her bones. An idea took root in her mind as the intensity of their eye contact lit a breathless desire in her blood. 

“Are you going to be very busy tonight?” Jennifer asked. Her mouth was dry and the words came out breathier than she had hoped, less self-assured. She’d been aiming for confident and nonchalant and missed by a country mile. His arms, slender as ever but strong and sure, tightened around her. In response, her pulse quickened to beat a tattoo against her ribcage. Of course, Spencer noticed; nothing escaped his observation. 

“Not particularly. Why? Is there something wrong?” He asked her, studying her expression. “Your heart rate increased and you’re flushed,” Spencer pointed out, much to her chagrin. Jennifer could do nothing but bury her face in his shirt to hide the telltale stain of blood on her cheeks and chest. She shook her head back and forth, simultaneously trying to gather the courage to say what she needed and to push her wanton thoughts aside. The only trouble was she wasn’t exactly sure she wanted to sublimate those thoughts anymore. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and met Spencer’s eyes. 

“Are you ill?” he asked. Oh, how she wished he’d catch on to what she was getting at, but she hadn’t exactly given him much to go on. 

Jennifer shook her head; no, not sick. Deliberately, slowly, she pressed her lips to the fluttering pulse point at the crux of Spencer’s neck and shoulder and laid a kiss there, then another. Now it was her turn to hear how his heart rate jumped and galloped. Spencer’s big hands on her shoulders tugged her back so he could look her in the eyes, his unspoken question lingering in the infinitesimal space between them. Another deep breath in, and she thought she might have the courage to say what she meant. 

“I’m not sick,” she said, wondering if there was a medical condition on which she could blame the flames of lust tickling her belly. “And the cure for this is a different sort of medicine entirely,” she finished, only a little wobbly at the end. Bless him, though, he still hadn’t caught on. Judging by the look on his face, he was calculating endless permutations of what she could be afflicted by. Again, she hardened her resolve and rose up on her toes to close the distance between their lips. 

His talented hands weren’t still for long; they flew to her hips after a heartbeat where Jennifer was worried he’d push her away. She needn’t have worried. Spencer crushed her close to him like she was his only tether to reality. Jennifer deepened their kiss in response and lightly ran her fingernails down the left side of his neck, eliciting from him a low moan that settled deep in her bones. With great effort, Jennifer detached herself from Spencer, feeling dizzier than she ought to. Her breath came in short gasps as she met his eyes, amber irises dark with lust. 

“Not your workshop, not the stable, not in the woods,” she said shakily. “But Spencer, I think I’m going mad. Or I will soon if we don’t-“

His sharp intake of breath stopped her mid-sentence. Understanding dawned over his face like the brilliance of the sun and a languid smile appeared on his lips (which were exceedingly distracting, Jennifer noticed). If she hadn’t been so lost in the heat of the moment, she might have laughed at how quickly his expression changed. 

“Tonight,” he said in a low voice, almost a growl. “After Henry’s asleep. Come to me.”

Jennifer was nearly overcome with longing; it was all she could do to nod wordlessly, still caught in his hot gaze. Spencer brushed a thumb along her cheek and without thinking, Jennifer turned her head and pressed a kiss to his palm. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut for a split second and slid his hand back to pull her closer with his fingers wrapped in her hair. One more kiss, she thought dizzily, one more kiss and I’ve got to go back inside or we will end up naked on the floor. 

When she finally broke away, she marked with some satisfaction that Spencer looked as wrecked as she felt. His beautiful full lips were swollen with kisses and his irises were blown wide. Shakily, Jennifer wrapped the shawl back around herself and walked to the door, bracing herself for the raging wind that awaited her. 

“How am I supposed to get any work done now?” Spencer called after her. Jennifer turned around, smiling at the desperate expression on his face. I put that there, she thought. 

“If I figure it out, I’ll be sure to let you know,” she said before pulling open the door, and then she was walking against the wind through the yard, the door slamming shut behind her. Jennifer practically ran to the house and was surprised to find Diana in the kitchen with Henry, a checkerboard between them. 

“Mama!” Henry cried, running to hug her about the waist. Jennifer bent down and engulfed her boy in a big hug with a kiss on the cheek. “Diana’s teaching me how to play checkers! She says I have to learn how so I’m more logical to beat Spencer at chess!”

Jennifer smiled at the older woman gratefully. And then she turned Henry in her arms and looked him in the face sternly. 

“You know it is very impolite to call a grown-up by their given name. You say Mrs. Reid, you hear, Henry?” Diana scoffed behind her even as Henry was nodding. 

“Nonsense. He’s a good boy who knows how to respect his elders. I see no reason to force him to stand on formalities in the place he calls home, Jennifer.”

Not for the first time, Jennifer had to marvel at this strange woman. 

“If you say so, Diana,” she answered. She’d also learned not to argue with her, too. 

She was wrong if she thought she’d have to find something to occupy her until Henry went to bed. Chores were always endless, especially with winter on their doorstep. She stoked the fire in the hearth until the flames were the length of her hand and lit the burners in the stove. There were cold chicken cutlets she could dice, and she rolled out a simple dough for dumplings. The water that flowed from the tap was ice cold on her hands as she scrubbed the turnips and carrots, making it hard for her to hold the knife to chop them. Soonest began, soonest over, she mused, and it was true: before long the chicken and dumplings were bubbling on the stove and she’d dressed a three-bean salad simply with vinegar and oil. 

Sitting at the table across from Spencer in the company of Henry and Diana was another matter entirely, however. Jennifer couldn’t look at Spencer without a peculiar clenching feeling in her stomach and blushing bright red. Spencer, for his part, managed to choke on his water three times before he was even halfway through his bowl. 

“You two are up to something,” Diana said, prompting Spencer to jerk his knife across his plate with a grating screech. Diana raised an eyebrow at him as if to say “I told you so”. 

“Jennifer, you look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but I can hear you breathing from across the table. And Spencer, well…” she trailed off, zeroing in on her son with a knowing look. “A mother always knows,” she said smugly. Jennifer looked at Spencer to rescue her, but he had a comically blank look on his face. Rolling her eyes, she forged ahead. 

“Spencer has a colleague that he’s expecting a visit from this week,” Jennifer said, trying to imbue her words with confidence that she didn’t really feel. “We’re simply trying to ascertain the best way to entertain him.”

Diana looked at Jennifer, then at Spencer, who at least had the sense to nod, and then back at Jennifer. For her part, she was holding her breath and waiting to see if Diana would take the bait. A few torturous moments of silence later, Diana nodded. 

“You’ll do me the kindness of letting me know when he arrives? You know I don’t like strangers, Spencer,” Diana said, shooting a look at her son. 

“Of course, mother,” Spencer replied dutifully, stabbing at his beans. 

“Can I meet him, Mama?” Henry asked hopefully. He had a naturally trusting nature and never met anyone he didn’t take to immediately. Jennifer looked at him, honestly unsure of how to respond. She erred on the safe side and told him that she wasn’t sure, which didn’t make the boy very happy, but there was not much she could do about that. Well, besides read to him extra long that night, she reasoned. 

It was all she could do to wash the dishes without breaking any of them. Jennifer made herself slow down several times; she was splashing water all over herself and generally making a mess of things. What seemed like hours later, she was finally rinsing out the enameled sink and wiping the long table down with a flannel. She cast an eye at the fire in the hearth; it would need more fuel before she got Henry to bed and...she shook her head. She had to stay focused. 

Fortunately, she’d given Henry a bath only two nights ago and could get away with having him wipe down with a wet cloth. After checking behind his ears, Jennifer sent her boy up the ladder into their loft bedroom, toeing off her boots before following him up into the rafters. She hesitated only a moment before changing into her flannel nightgown and crawling into bed with Henry and their battered book. This quiet time with just her and Henry was her favorite part of the day. She loved the way he was still soft and sweet with her even as she watched him grow into a little man more and more each day. She helped him say his prayers and climbed into the bed next to him, tucking the covers tightly around them both against the cold. Jennifer knew she had to take her time with Henry, not only because he deserved every ounce of her attention, but because she knew otherwise she’d be racing downstairs right to Spencer’s room. 

The Odyssey was winding to a close, and she would only be able to squeeze a couple more nights out of it. Perhaps she’d read him The Adventures of Tom Sawyer next, she mused. A boy like Henry would surely be enamored with Tom and Huck Finn. On and on she read, weaving worlds and characters into Henry’s mind so he’d have sweet dreams of adventure and courage. Even after he’d drifted off to sleep, Jennifer kept reading to herself so she wouldn’t jump out of the bed and wake Henry up. Once she was sure he was asleep, she turned down the flame in the oil lamp until it was just the barest hint of flame and quietly slipped out of bed. 

Her heart was pounding loud enough for them to hear clear across the cove, Jennifer imagined. She unpinned her braid and ran her fingers through the woven strands until the whole thing was undone and her blonde hair fell in wheat-colored waves down her back. She was thinking about how different this was from her first time with Will. They’d been behind the pump house with her skirts rucked up around her legs before she’d even registered what was happening, but it hadn’t always been like that. He’d been a perfect gentleman, of course, then and always when they were together. How would it be with Spencer? She knew he was attracted to her, but would he find her wanting in some way once they had been intimate? After all, he’d said that he’d slept with an actress, and Jennifer had no delusions about how’d she’d compare to such a woman. Perhaps she’d put some scent on, she had a bottle of lily of the valley water somewhere...but then again, no. She didn’t normally wear scent, so why start now? 

She checked to see that Henry was still sleeping and nervously smoothed her hands down over her nightdress. Her palms were sweating. With shaking legs, she descended the ladder down to the ground floor. Jennifer half expected to tumble down and land in a heap of broken limbs, but she managed to get both feet on the ground in one piece. Half expecting to find Diana sitting on the sofa, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a sliver of lamplight under the older woman’s door. Jennifer couldn’t recall being so nervous in her life and she chided herself for being silly. They’d all but crossed this bridge already, and she might as well just stand by and watch it burn behind her. The few short steps to Spencer’s bedroom seemed to stretch out before her like the longest road and she moved as if in a trance toward the door worn smooth with age and use. Hesitating only a moment, Jennifer raised her hand and knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open and stepping across the threshold. Her heart was hammering so hard she feared it would burst out of her chest. 

Spencer had been sitting in an overstuffed armchair reading before she’d knocked. He’d gotten up slowly and crossed the room in two long strides before stopping short to look at her. All of the sudden, Jennifer felt more exposed than she could ever remember feeling; as if her serviceable flannel nightgown was nothing but sheer lace and gauze. She blushed in spite of herself and had to fight the urge to splay her hands over her torso to hide her body from his searching gaze.

For a moment, they just stood and looked at each other, tension thrumming in the air between them. She had to swallow a lump in her throat that formed when she realized the heady mix of tenderness and desire that flashed over Spencer’s face. It was as if an enchantment had been cast over the room. Finally, Spencer was the one to break the spell. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered. “Like an angel.” Jennifer blushed red hot and looked down at her bare feet. Should she have kept the stockings she was wearing earlier on? Spencer’s hand was under her chin then, tilting her head up to look at him. 

“No, don’t hide from me, please,” he said. “I just could look at you forever and truly never tire.” Jennifer forced herself to keep looking at him; not that it was a struggle to look at someone who resembled a Greek statue. He let his hand trail from her chin down her jaw to tangle a lock of her hair in his long fingers. Jennifer closed her eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of his lithe fingers brushing against the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. 

Spencer was dressed for bed as well with a robe over his pajamas. Nearly helpless to stop herself, Jennifer reached a hand out to tug him closer by the open neck of his robe. Spencer crowded into her space in an immensely pleasing way, pulling her flush to him and finally capturing her lips in a delicious kiss. His hands moved to travel the extent of her torso as he trailed teasing fingers up and down her sides. Jennifer shivered. 

His tongue probed against the seam of her lips and she opened her mouth to the sweet intrusion. The kiss grew feverish quickly and Jennifer could feel all the blood rushing from her head directly into her most sensitive parts. She must have moaned, for Spencer broke away from her and gave her a wicked smile. 

“You have no idea how I’ve waited for this moment, Jennifer,” he said in a low voice. Spencer’s hands were still tangled in her nightgown and rubbing little patterns into her flesh, driving her mad. She regained her senses and told him so.

“I thought I was going mad,” Jennifer murmured back. “You’ve lit me on fire from within.” 

“You are the most devastatingly gorgeous human I have ever had the privilege of occupying time with. From the first moment I saw you, I was wonderstruck. I knew my life would never be the same,” he admitted before sweetly capturing her lips again.

This time, he used his hands to draw her back with him slowly towards the bed. When his legs met the mattress, Spencer pulled her down and maneuvered her under him without breaking the kiss. When his tongue touched hers, her whole body was wracked with shivers. From the way his hands shook as he stroked her sides, Spencer was coming equally undone. Gasping, she broke away and rested her head against his collarbone. 

“We don’t have to go any further than this, Jennifer, I swear it,” he said fervently. She shook her head wildly. 

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she whispered into the exposed skin on the planes of his chest. “I’m scared of how much I want you.”

She heard a sound rumble deep in his chest, something that sent a thrill up her spine. She felt his hips roll into the space between her legs but couldn’t spread them much wider; her knees were already straining against the fabric of her nightgown. Impatiently, she wiggled her hips to get some slack in the fabric to pull it up. The movement brought Spencer more neatly between her thighs and she felt his arousal nudge against the fabric covering her center. He was leaning on one forearm and used his free hand to tug her nightgown up above her hips, exposing her skin to the night air. She felt goosebumps prickle up her skin and they only added to the heady mix of feelings that threatened to overtake her. 

He looked down at her and whispered her name, a question in his eyes. She nodded desperately, eager to take all he had to give. Something flicked over Spencer’s expression, the look in his eyes changing from awestruck to hungry in an instant. Jennifer surged up to meet his lips with her own, drinking him in like the desperate woman she was. She was tugging senselessly at the neck of his robe, the buttons of his shirt, trying to get at his skin so she could feel it against her own. As soon as she had managed to rid him of the robe and his shirt was unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, Spencer’s free hand was working at her own buttons, popping them open with needy fingers. His tongue was massaging hers in a heated exchange that was singularly intoxicating. 

Jennifer arched into him, breaking their kiss for a moment to catch her breath. 

“My sweet girl, you are full of wonders,” he said, adoration evident in his voice. She leaned up on one arm to tug her nightdress over her head and tossed it on the floor. She’d felt so hot all of the sudden, like her very skin was scorching fire. Spencer leaned back to sit on his haunches and look down at her, his gaze deliberately dragging slowly down her body to linger on her breasts and the shadowed valley between her thighs. For the longest moment, he didn’t speak or move; it was as if he was frozen to the spot. The moment nearly drew on too long before he spoke, almost so quiet she couldn’t hear him. He was reciting Shakespeare again. 

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” the words came quiet but rushed from his lips. Finally, finally, he took his splayed hands and reverently ghosted them over her skin: up her sides, across her clavicle, and down to her breasts and down again still over the slight swell of her belly and the valleys dipping near her hip bones.

This is what she’d been waiting for, she knew. Sensations she hadn’t felt with any man but Will, flooding back to her now and threatening to pull her under. She knew they were approaching the point of no return, though neither of them would reasonably turn back at this point. Spencer leaned forward now, eyes deep and shadowed with desire. Jennifer could almost see the waves of lust radiating off him as he moved sinuously up the bed to crowd into her space. He was supporting himself on his left elbow as his right hand continued its exploration of her sensitive body. Jennifer’s breath was hitching madly in her chest as he skated his long fingers down to circle around her nipple as he ducked his head and pressed a hot kiss to the side of her neck. Still, his fingers moved on even as his face remained buried in her neck and hair, surprising her with the rasp of a calloused finger over the other sensitive bud. Spencer drew his fingers back and forth maddeningly, tugging at the peaked flesh with eager movements. 

Jennifer bucked beneath him, desperate for more of his body on hers. Spencer shifted his leg further up between her thighs and she found herself grinding down against his leg senselessly. In a flash, Spencer’s hand moved down the outside of her leg to her calf and hitched her leg around him, encouraging her movements. Jennifer whined desperately as she tugged at his curls. Lifting his head, she could see how his pupils were blown wider than she’d ever seen them; there was nearly none of the rich honey brown that hadn’t been eclipsed by black. 

“If you need me to stop, Jennifer, you’d better tell me now. I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from you,” Spencer warned in a low voice. Quick as a flash, she grabbed the hand that was teasing her breast and tugged it down to her slick center so he could feel how eager she was. She was too far gone to feel any shame. As soon as his fingers slipped through her wet folds she heard him gasp audibly and take a deep shuddering breath in. 

It was like the day in the meadow, only heightened immeasurably so. He’d obviously committed what drove her wild to memory and he was certainly not holding back this time, working her up with little rough strokes pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled at the top of her folds before stroking her inner lips languidly. Up and down, up and down, then another swipe against the tiny bud, almost bringing her to the peak and then backing off. When Spencer finally drew his fingers lower to tease her entrance, Jennifer was almost weeping with need. She was helpless against the waves of shivers that wracked her body and the zips of electricity flying all over her skin. First with one long finger, then another, he pushed inside her inch by inch. Jennifer could feel her muscles clenching around his digits and she was vaguely aware that she was being noisier than she should. Desperately, she clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her wanton moans. 

Jennifer saw stars the moment Spencer crooked his fingers up inside her and pressed hard against the swollen locus at the top of her sex simultaneously. She had to bite her wrist to keep from screaming out Spencer’s name and it was some time before she could catch her breath enough to focus on the bare-chested man lying next to her, desire and satisfaction plainly written on his face as he gazed at her adoringly. 

“You are magnificent,” he marveled, trailing his hand up from between her legs to leave a slick trail of her release up her stomach, between her breasts...where he paused for a beat, holding her eyes with his as he dragged the fingers up her chest and chin to her lips. As if she were in a trance, Jennifer opened her mouth and tasted herself on his fingers, drawing them in and lathing them with her tongue. To her surprise, she didn’t mind the taste, and the expression that crossed Spencer’s face was positively otherworldly and entirely worth any momentary hesitation she may have felt. 

He leaned in close to her and kissed her so hard she was certain her lips would bruise. Jennifer felt an insistent hardness pressing against her thigh and she knew Spencer was as far gone as she was. She hooked her leg around his and tried to pull him closer still. Spencer made a muffled noise against her lips as his fingers flew to the buttons on his pants. Jennifer tugged at the waist desperately; she needed to feel him against her. 

And there, Spencer was free of his pants and his erection sprang free to curve up toward his stomach, flushed dark and dusky, glistening at the tip. Jennifer reached down between them to run her finger over the bead of moisture there, bringing her finger back to her mouth. She heard Spencer’s sharp intake of breath before he swore roughly and jerked at her touch. 

He was above her in a moment and peppering her face with kisses as he positioned himself between her legs. Jennifer could feel the solid heat of him pushing against her entrance, and then he paused, holding himself back to catch her eyes with his own. 

“Yes,” Jennifer moaned, canting her hips up to rub his shaft against her dripping wet center. With agonizing slowness, Spencer pushed into her, filling her inch by inch until he bottomed out inside her. Jennifer was panting hard now. It had been so long, and Spencer felt so good and right inside her. He rested his forehead against hers and shifted his hips minutely, settling deep in her belly. 

“You feel like heaven,” Spencer said, voice shaking. It was all she could do to swallow him back into a kiss as she grew used to the sensation of being stretched and filled by him. Rocking her hips minutely, she tried to encourage him to move. Spencer obliged her sweetly, moving slow and deep inside her at first before pulling almost entirely out and driving deep inside her, making her squeak with his thrusts. She thought she would fly apart in a million pieces and was caught completely off-guard when Spencer reached down to where they were joined to rub at the bundle of nerves there. Jennifer bucked madly under his ministrations, desperate for more. 

He settled into a maddening rhythm that seemed designed to bring her to the brink and then pull her away at the last second. Her nails were scrabbling on the sweat-soaked expanse of his back. Jennifer could feel the muscles tensing and bunching under his skin as he labored over her. Again she was approaching a peak. This time Spencer adjusted his hips just the tiniest bit; he was now thrusting up against a spot deep inside that was unknown to her, but brought with it an ecstatic pressure that threatened to bring her to tears. She was babbling now, nonsensical phrases with Spencer’s name mixed in. His lips swallowed the litany of pleas and praise falling from her mouth easily. Spencer’s pace became more erratic; hips snapping urgently against her, pulling her along with him towards a final climax. 

All she could think about was Spencer; he was the earth, the moon, the sky, and the stars for her right now. She didn’t ever want to live not covered and consumed by him. Falling, she was lost now. 

“Spencer, oh...Spencer,” she moaned. “I love you,” she admitted in a rush, the truth of the words bringing a rush of tears to her eyes even as she found her release. 

His thrusts were truly frenzied now, and his voice sounded desperate and strained. “Say it again,” he begged, threading his fingers through her hair.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Jennifer chanted, voice wrecked and broken as Spencer gasped her name against her neck. He felt like a hot brand inside her and then one, two, three thrusts more and he was spilling his seed inside her, pulsing hard enough against her walls to make her clench down again, ripping gasps from both of them. The roar of the blood in her ears was all Jennifer could hear. All she could feel was Spencer, all over and inside her. He had wrapped his arms around her now and was moving, pulling her over on top of him so he could hold her to his chest while he softened inside of her. Jennifer could feel the pounding beat of his heart on her cheek where it rested on his sweaty chest. She pressed a kiss there and lifted her head to meet his eyes. 

He was staring at her with a look so intense she felt the urge to look down and avert her eyes from the depth of feeling there. She didn’t though, she forced herself to keep looking at him and was rewarded with an earth-shattering smile. 

“I think I’ll need to collect more data, but that was easily the most profound sexual and romantic experience of my entire life,” he said, voice raspy. Jennifer laughed (or she tried to) and felt him slip out of her. She made a little noise at the loss and Spencer chuckled weakly. “No one has ever made me feel the way you do,” he admitted. 

Jennifer felt tears prick anew at her eyes at this plainly spoken honesty. She buried her head in his chest and squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions. 

“Was I-was it good?” Spencer asked in a small voice. 

Jennifer picked her head up and smiled at him through the mess of tears in her eyes. 

“Happy tears,” she explained. “I didn’t know I could feel this way for another person.” And she hadn’t, truly. After Will’s death, she was certain her heart would remain as empty as the casket they buried him in. Spencer had proved her wrong, he’d chased out the shadows and opened her eyes again. Certainly, she’d never expected to enjoy sex again. Jennifer had long suspected that what she and Will enjoyed in the bedroom wasn’t typical. Why would anyone refer to such acts as the “marriage debt” if they’d enjoyed themselves half as much as Jennifer and Will had? It was different with Spencer, but similar too, in the most important ways. 

She was distracted from her thoughts by Spencer’s large hand cupping her chin and tilting her head up. He smiled sweetly at her and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. 

“I love you, Jennifer,” he said fervently. “I want to spend the rest of my days only making you cry happy tears.” He was echoing what he’d said to her in the meadow, she remembered distantly. How could she have ever doubted how he felt for her? It seemed obvious now, glaringly so. 

Without thinking very much about it, she said suddenly, “My name isn’t really Jennifer.” 

Spencer looked at her with surprise written on his face. “Oh?” he asked. 

She took a deep breath. Telling Spencer her birth name was inviting him into the twisted web that was her family life. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to drag him into that mess. But neither was she sure she wanted to hide a part of her away from him. 

“It’s Genevieve,” she said quietly, watching for his reaction. 

“That’s a beautiful name,” Spencer said. “St. Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris, as I’m sure you know. Scholars think it’s a portmanteau of the Gaulish words for family and woman. It suits you,” he finished. Jennifer wrinkled her nose and shook her head slightly. 

“Why don’t you like it?” Spencer asked gently. 

“It reminds me of my mother,” she answered in a quiet voice. The soft sounds that made up her name were in such sharp contrast to the slaps, yelling, and pinching that marked the landscape of her childhood. The hair stood up on her neck any time she heard the name, instantly on high alert for when the next blow would fall. 

“You’ve always been Jennifer to me,” Spencer said firmly. “And if that’s what you prefer, then that’s how you’ll remain.”

She smiled gratefully at him, this wonderful man who was beginning to hold her heart in his hands. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

“Anything for you, Jennifer,” he said, emotion thick in his voice. “I would walk to the ends of the earth and beyond if you asked me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not in a sugar coma from the sweetness! Thanks for still being here, friends!


	10. Momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **explicit sexual content ahead** : as always if you'd like to read a version without the smut please inbox me and I'll send it your way!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Momentum** : movement

If she thought she’d leave Spencer’s bed and make her way upstairs as soon as she caught her breath, Jennifer would be wrong. They lay there in the flickering lamplight, talking and cuddling late into the night. Jennifer felt giddy. She knew she was falling in love with Spencer Reid. The knowledge was intoxicating in its glorious newness. He looked at her as if she hung the sun in the sky. 

Between soft and sweet kisses, Spencer asked her question after question. 

“What’s your favorite time of day?”

“Morning, before chores.”

“When were you born?”

“March 20th, 1875,” she said. “What about you?”

“October 28th, 1869,” Spencer answered. Jennifer’s head jerked up in surprise. 

“That’s only a week and a half away!” Jennifer said, smacking his shoulder in mock annoyance. “And I wouldn’t have known a thing and let the day pass without any celebration!” 

Spencer made a funny little grimace. “I don’t usually celebrate my birthdays. You don’t need to make a big fuss,” he said. “In fact, I would prefer you wouldn’t.”

Jennifer looked at him in surprise. “Well, if you say so. Can I at least bake you a cake?” she asked, giving him her best pleading look. “Any kind you like, I promise!”

Spencer laughed and ruffled her hair affectionately. “How could I deny you anything when you look at me like that?” 

She blushed hotly and let her hair fall over her eyes. The intensity of his feelings for her, and hers for him, sometimes made her feel giddy and strange; unmoored. 

“Come here,” Spencer said, patting the bed next to him. Jennifer had been laying on her stomach across the foot of the bed, leaning up on her elbow and looking at him. Suddenly self-conscious about her nudity, she crawled up the bed and pulled the quilt over her bare form as she settled next to Spencer. He turned to face her, fingers splayed on her hip under the quilt, running back and forth over the curve of her waist and up to the dip at the base of her spine. 

“So soft,” he murmured, hands still reverently caressing her. “If I wake up and this is a dream…” She quieted him with a finger over his lips. Absently, he kissed the pad of the digit and looked her in the eyes. 

“It’s not a dream. It can’t be. I’ve never had a dream like this in my life,” she replied. They lay there facing each other for a long moment, neither saying a word. 

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer asked softly. Jennifer sighed. She might as well be honest with him. 

“What happens now? Everything’s changed,” she said in a small voice. It was true. Though she didn’t truly believe he’d have said and done the things he had if he meant to cast her aside, a lifetime of being unwanted and abused won out over the scant years of happiness she’d found. She was always waiting for the worst to come. 

Spencer looked at her, eyes intense. “Yes, it has,” he said seriously. He reached toward her with a big hand and tenderly brushed her cheek. “And yet, nothing has. I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time. Maybe since the first moment I saw you.” 

Her heart leapt to hear this. Could he really mean it? “I don’t intend to dishonor you,” Spencer continued. “And I don’t intend on taking any other lovers. In fact, I had resigned myself to spending the rest of my life alone.”

Jennifer blinked at him, stunned. How could someone as magnetic as Spencer not see how truly captivating he was?

“I don’t either,” Jennifer said. “Mean to take other lovers, that is. After Will, I thought…” she trailed off. Spencer leaned forward and laid a soft kiss on her forehead. She shifted closer to him, seeking the comfort of being in his solid embrace. 

“I’ll gladly take anything you have to give,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Even the barest scrap of your affection-“ she cut him off with a kiss. 

After a moment, Spencer’s hand tightened and pulled her nearer, licking at her lips until she opened her mouth to him. She felt the flames of desire begin to light anew in her belly. Spencer’s fingers tightened on her hip and she could feel him twitch against her thigh. Jennifer was getting slick between her legs; Spencer wasn’t alone in being affected by the kiss. She could still feel the stretched sensitive flesh where she’d had him earlier and the renewed arousal ached in a strangely good way. 

The hand on her cheek traveled down her neck to cup her breast, squeezing it and rolling her nipple between his fingers. Jennifer moaned into their kiss, drunk with sensation. Spencer palmed her flesh roughly before moving to the other one, pulling at one rosy bud and then another until she was whimpering helplessly into his mouth. 

When she squeezed her legs together to get some friction, Jennifer felt Spencer’s growing hardness nudging insistently against her thighs. She brought her hand down between them to stroke the hot velvety flesh there, yielding and hard at the same time. Spencer nipped at her lip when she swiped her thumb over the swollen head of his cock, spreading around the moisture that had collected there. She spread the sticky fluid around and caressed the tip with a feather-light touch.

Spencer’s hand on her hip crept around to the back of her thigh to hitch it over his own, leaving her open to him. He moved his hand down to grip himself and rub the weeping head against Jennifer’s equally wet entrance. Spencer broke away from their kiss to whisper in her ear. 

“Do you want me again?” He murmured, tickling her ear with his hot breath and her lower lips with his erection. 

“Mhm,” she nodded, unable to form real words. Slowly, Spencer guided himself into her, stopping when he’d slid the ridge of his cockhead past her lips and holding himself there. She flexed her walls experimentally, adjusting to the sensation. With her leg draped over Spencer’s hip, she pulled him closer and thus farther into her, sliding into the plush heat at her core. They both made a noise when he was sheathed tightly inside her. Jennifer rocked experimentally, not used to this new angle where her sensitive bundle of nerves was rubbing against Spencer’s pubic bone. Bursts of light flashed across her vision as the double sensation of him inside her and the external friction sending her hurtling towards the precipice. 

Spencer had latched his lips onto her pulse point and was sucking a deep purple love bite into the skin there. Distantly, Jennifer hoped no one would notice it, that it would be covered by her clothes, but then again, no...she wanted the world to see where he’d claimed her. The undulating motions of his hips never ceased, working her into a frenzied state where all she could think about was him and the sensations he was eliciting in her. They were so close together; Spencer’s arms cradling her tight to his chest as he moved deep within her. Jennifer was lost in the dark shadows of his eyes as he held her close. She couldn’t look away from him, even if she’d wanted to. The raw intimacy of the moment was intoxicating. Jennifer whimpered in spite of herself. She was hurtling towards her release and felt her inner muscles clenching down hard around Spencer, pulling him deeper still. He lifted his head from his assault on her neck to capture her lips in another searing kiss. 

“I would live inside you if I could,” Spencer gasped. “Baptize myself in your juices and worship you for the rest of my life like this.” 

Jennifer spasmed at these profound words. Still, he went on inexorably. “I want to keep you split open on my cock forever, wet and fucked open for me whenever I want.” It was Jennifer’s turn to swear now. 

“Oh, Mother of God,” she moaned brokenly, throwing her head back and exposing the long column of her neck to Spencer’s lips and teeth which he dragged along the tingling flesh there. 

“You’re all mine,” he said, soft voice almost a growl. This sent her past the point of all conscious thought and over the precipice into pure ecstasy. Spencer was quick to join her in release, spilling hot and wet into her even as his hips still thrust erratically. His head was buried in her neck and he was panting hard. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered in a voice so small she could barely hear it. 

“Whatever for?” she said between gasps of air. She couldn’t think of anything on the entire planet Spencer would possibly need to apologize for after bringing her to such monumental and exquisite pleasure. 

“Being crude and rough,” he said, still speaking into the skin of her shoulder, not looking at her. “I can’t believe I said those filthy things. I don’t know what came over me.” 

Jennifer would have laughed had she not been so winded from their shared exertions. “I didn’t think you were being filthy,” she admitted softly, wondering at the intensity of her reaction to his words. If he thought he was filthy for saying them, then what would he think of her climaxing over them? “I liked it...thinking of you that way,” she said, quieter still and face beginning to flush. Images formed unbidden in her mind: Jennifer on her knees in front of Spencer with his cock in her throat, his hand wrapped in her hair as he fed it to her inch by inch until she was gagging around him...Spencer behind her, fucking her deep as she was on her hands and knees for him, filling her womb with his hot seed. Jennifer had to blink rapidly to erase the erotic visions from her sight. 

“You did?” he asked, a glimmer of hope at the edges of his words. She nodded quickly, feeling shy and a little embarrassed by how intensely his words affected her. Spencer smiled at her, a little guiltily. “I can’t help myself when I’m with you. You take any semblance of reason and rationality I have and ignite it. I find myself quite singularly obsessed with you.” 

“I feel the same way,” she confided to Spencer. “You bring out the wanton in me.” He laughed at that and gave her an affectionate squeeze. 

“I don’t think you’ll find me complaining,” he assured her. 

Their second round of lovemaking had tired Jennifer down to her bones. In a good way, though, she thought. She felt languid and liquid and sensuous stretched out naked in Spencer’s arms. Distantly she knew she’d have to make her way to her own bed before she fell asleep downstairs. It would be utter chaos if Henry or Diana awoke and she was still wrapped around Spencer. 

“I can’t stay,” she whispered against his chest. “If Henry wakes up and I’m not there…” she trailed off. Spencer sighed above her, the whoosh of his breath ruffling her hair. 

“I know,” he said with a resigned note in his voice. “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to let you leave this bed, but somehow I’ll have to.”

“Yes,” she agreed sadly. They laid there in silence, holding each other tight, legs entwined, for another quarter hour before Jennifer stirred and sat up in the rumpled sheets. Her hair fell in long tangled waves down her back and Spencer swept it over one shoulder so he could kiss the exposed skin there. 

“I have to go,” she whispered again, not trusting herself to keep her tears at bay for some strange reason. She felt bereft, like she was suffering a loss that she didn’t quite understand yet. When she stood up on unsteady legs, she felt a rush of warm fluid between her legs; Spencer’s fluids mixed with her own coating her inner thighs. She’d forgotten that happened. Shakily, she bent to pick her nightgown up off the floor and pull it over her head. It was then that the threatening tears really did start to fall. 

She must have made some sort of noise because Spencer was up off the bed in an instant and folding her into his arms. When his arms closed around her, Jennifer felt her legs crumple beneath her. Spencer held her up as he steered her back to sit down on the bed. He was stroking her hair and making soft noises in her ear. 

“Darling, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The tender concern in his voice made Jennifer cry even harder, great heaving sobs now. 

“N-no,” she stuttered. “I d-don’t know what’s wrong. I’m just so sad all of the sudden,” she hiccupped, desperately trying to catch her breath. 

“It makes sense, you know,” he said. “Your body just underwent an intense physical and emotional experience and you’re no doubt experiencing the aftereffects of that.”

“It’s not just that,” she managed through her tears. “I’m falling in love with you, I’m in love with you, and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Then stay with me, Jennifer. I love you, too. I love you so much, I don’t have the words to express it. The way I feel for you defies reason, it maddens logic.”

“It doesn’t matter!” She cried. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re my employer and people--”

Spencer cut her off then; his hands on her shoulders, his voice both more desperate and more forceful than she’d ever heard. “Oh, for God’s sake, Jennifer! I don’t want you to be my housekeeper, I want you to be my wife!” 

Jennifer stared dumbly at him, unsure of what she was hearing. 

“What did you say?” she asked querulously, blinking like a simpleton. 

Spencer had a wild look on his face, but the magnitude of the love she felt radiating off him settled around her like a warm summer wind. 

“I said I want you to be my wife. I don’t need a housekeeper, but I don’t know how I would survive if you walked out of my life,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know it’s awfully soon and I don’t want you to think--”

Jennifer cut him off with a kiss, flinging her arms around his neck and trying to pour every ounce of emotion she felt into the connection between them. After a few desperate moments, they broke apart. Jennifer’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. 

“Yes,” she said simply, locking eyes with Spencer. “I want to be your wife.” The word sounded foreign and strange on her lips. Wryly, she thought that she’d made a habit of accepting proposals in the heat of passion. She imagined how Will would chuckle and say “Whatever gets the job done, darlin’.

It was Spencer’s turn to look foolish and flummoxed. “Did you say yes?” he asked with baited breath. Jennifer nodded furiously.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” she confirmed, watching the bright glow of joy dawn over Spencer’s face, when suddenly his expression fell. 

“What is it?” she asked, fear licking at her heart. Had he changed his mind? Was her enthusiastic acceptance not what he’d actually been looking for in response? Had he been hoping she’d decline and let him off the hook?

“I don’t have a ring,” he said forlornly. Jennifer had to laugh at this triviality. 

“That’s all? Oh, Spencer, I don’t care about a ring,” she said, trying to keep from giggling too hard. 

“I’ll find the most gorgeous ring for you, I swear it,” he went on. Jennifer blushed with pleasure. 

“Really, Spencer, don’t go through too much trouble,” she said. 

Suddenly, Spencer started laughing and pulled her close in his arms again. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he mused, more to himself than to her. “I never thought there was a woman alive who would say yes to marrying me.”

Jennifer could hear the faint note of hurt in his voice. “You don’t have nearly a high enough opinion of yourself,” she told him. “And I do think you sell yourself short, Spencer. You’re incredibly handsome, not to mention the smartest and most accomplished man I’ve ever met. You’re exceedingly kind and gentle with your mother and Henry, and you’re always willing to lend a hand even if it means getting dirty,” she said, thinking about Spencer covered in dirt in the garden, or hay sticking out of his hair in the stable. 

“You flatter me,” he replied. Jennifer shook her head forcefully. 

“No, I don’t. I’m telling you the truth,” she insisted. Spencer sighed and looked at her. 

“I suppose you’ll always be determined to see the best in me,” he said. 

“Of course. What else could I see when I look at you?” she asked. 

“A scrawny bookworm incapable of getting by in the real world, someone more comfortable living in a library than a family home with actual people,” he muttered. It was as if he was parroting someone else’s words. She frowned. 

“Not in the slightest,” Jennifer assured him. “You opened my eyes to things I couldn’t see. After Will, I didn’t think I would ever share in love again.” It was her turn to avert her gaze down to her lap, twisting her fingers in the fabric of her nightgown. 

“I hope you know I don’t intend to try to take his place,” Spencer said softly. “I know what you and he had was special and I’m not trying to erase that. I never will.”

Jennifer gave him a watery smile. “I know that. And Will would have loved to meet you if he had the chance. I’m sure he’d be picking your brain for ideas on how to increase wool yield or something else like that.”

“He sounds like a remarkable man,” Spencer said gently. 

“He certainly was,” Jennifer agreed. “I see so much of him in Henry, you know.”

At the mention of Henry, Spencer’s face went pale and he looked like a rabbit caught in a snare. “Oh God, Jennifer...Henry. What’s he going to think?”

Jennifer chuckled. “For such a smart man you can be awfully dense sometimes. Henry thinks you hung the moon. And I’ll be honest, raising a boy in this day and age without a father figure was a daunting prospect. You’re so good with him already. He loves you,” she said fervently. It was true; her son thought Spencer was the most interesting and wonderful man in the world. He hung onto each word that fell from the doctor’s lips like it was the gospel truth and started nearly every sentence with ‘Spencer says…’

“I know that rationally. I suppose I’m experiencing an overload of emotional input. I’m not used to so many good things happening to me in quick succession,” he smiled at her. “That’s thanks to you, you know. I thought the nuns were going to send us some spinster, and then when they said it was a widow and her son I imagined a long-toothed octogenarian for some reason.”

Jennifer smacked him on the arm. “I never!” she said, teasing him a bit. “See if you get any sugar in your coffee this morning!”

Spencer nuzzled the tender skin below her ear with the tip of his nose. They had been perched on the edge of the bed since he’d tugged her down when she started crying. Now, he shifted her back in his arms and moved the two of them up the bed to rest against the wall. 

“Are you going to try to leave again?” he asked her with a small teasing smile. “Or do you think it’s appropriate to stay with your betrothed in his bedroom?”

Jennifer’s heart raced when she heard Spencer say ‘betrothed’. It had such a nice ring to it. She and Will hadn’t very much time to talk about getting married. The altercation with Jennifer’s mother had put pay to that. They’d been married by a justice of the peace while a bruise bloomed on the side of Jennifer’s face. The official had probably thought Will put it there, she knew, but Will had never so much as raised his voice to her. 

“I think I can stay,” she said with a tiny smile. The first light of dawn was breaking in the east; the night sky turning that gorgeous deep cobalt that she loved. The dawning of the new day was bringing so much change with it. And yet, the important things would stay the same. She would still see Spencer and Diana and Henry, but they’d be part of the same family now. And it would really feel like her house as well, as opposed to a place she just took care of with no stake in the game. 

They lay there, Spencer holding Jennifer tightly in his arms, talking of everything and nothing until they both dozed off in the thin gray light of morning. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was an utterly overwhelming feeling of peace and belonging washing over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It won't be all sunshine and orgasms forever for our lovebirds, but I couldn't help myself.


	11. Stasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **stasis:** a period or state of inactivity or equilibrium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always the most calm before the biggest storms.

Jennifer had never been one for sleeping late. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d found comfort in early mornings and secret sunrises. It was often the only time of day she didn’t have to look over her shoulder or walk on eggshells around her mother’s explosive temper. Of course, there were chores and tasks imperative to start the day, but she didn’t mind those. Besides, if Jennifer was the one doing the chores, she could be sure that they wouldn’t have to be re-done later in the day. 

All of that aside, she did manage to doze in Spencer’s embrace until half past seven in the morning. Her eyes flew open and she was alert instantly, without knowing what had awakened her. Spencer was still asleep in the bed besides her; puffs of breath moving the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. Trying not to wake him, Jennifer wriggled experimentally in his arms. He mumbled something incoherent and pulled her closer to him. Apparently, this would not be easy. 

“Spencer, I need to get up,” she said, tapping on his chest. He made another noise and tightened his hold. 

“Spencer?” No response, but she could see his lips trembling like he was trying to hold back a smile. 

“Spencer.” A little sterner now. 

“I know. I’m being entirely selfish,” came the response, heavy with sleep. “But I was half-convinced this was a dream and I didn’t want to let it go. Let you go,” he amended, eyes now open and searching her own. She felt her heart race at the depth of feeling they held. 

“The day doesn’t wait for anyone, not even lovers,” she said, and he let her go with a doleful sigh. Taking stock of herself; bare feet, hair undoubtedly resembling a bird’s nest, and kiss-swollen lips, she didn’t relish the idea of walking out into the sitting room to see Diana on the sofa alone. 

“And you’re coming with me,” she added, tugging at his arm. “I don’t want your mother to kick me out of the house when she sees me coming from her son’s room.”

Spencer chuckled but got out of bed just the same. Jennifer allowed herself a brief moment to appreciate his well-sculpted form. He’d called himself scrawny earlier, but that wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t as thickly built as Will, but his muscles were long and sinuous and there was deceptive strength in his body. 

“Alright. You know she doesn’t bite,” he chided her. 

“I know, I know. But I would still feel better if you were with me,” she said, raking her fingers through the tangled mess of blonde hair falling over her shoulders into a semblance of a braid. Spencer shot her a smile from where he was buttoning up a russet colored cotton shirt. 

“To the ends of the earth,” he said, before stepping into his trousers and tucking his shirt in. He rummaged around in a plain and serviceable wooden chest and resurfaced with a pair of suspenders, which he stretched over his broad shoulders and clipped in place. Jennifer felt a funny twinge of attraction as she looked at him; she’d never seen him wear suspenders before and it was a surprisingly handsome picture. 

Finally more or less ready for whatever was awaiting her that morning, she was a half-step behind Spencer as he pushed open his heavy door and walked into the living room. His other hand was hanging below his waist, fingers entwined with hers and slightly tucked behind his back. The weak light of early morning filtered through the wavy glass windows and made patterns on the floor. Jennifer followed Spencer and managed to see Diana at the same time he did, or else she would have careened into his back. The older woman was perched on the sofa with, wrapped in her ever-present housecoat, crocheting steadily with her spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. Jennifer also caught Spencer’s sharp intake of breath. So much for nothing to be scared of, she thought to herself. To her surprise, it was Spencer who broke the silence. 

“Good morning, mother. Did you sleep well?” he asked, the picture of nonchalance. Jennifer tried to drop his hand, but his grip on her tightened insistently. He stroked the back of her hand reassuringly with his thumb and gave her a minute smile. 

“Yes, as a matter of fact I did,” Diana said. “Did either of you sleep at all?” she asked mildly, giving them both a once-over. Jennifer thought she could afford to stick her neck out if this woman was to be her mother-in-law. 

“A few hours,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that led to a raised eyebrow from Spencer. Jennifer thought she saw a smile flash across Diana’s thin lips for the briefest of moments. 

“I presume you two figured things out, then,” she said with a note of satisfaction in her low voice. Jennifer just sighed. Perhaps one day she would learn not to underestimate Diana, but today was apparently not that day. She’d managed to see through them from the very beginning. 

“We did,” Spencer confirmed; Jennifer could hear pride in his voice. “Actually, Mother, she agreed to marry me,” he said, holding the older woman’s eyes. 

“Congratulations are in order, then,” Diana said, laying down her yarn and getting up from the sofa. Jennifer was only a little stunned when she closed the short distance between them and pulled her into an embrace. Diana smelled of laundry smoke and lavender water, a nice and comforting smell. Tentatively, she hugged her back, surprised at how welcome the maternal embrace was. 

“I always knew it would take a very special woman to keep up with my Spencer,” Diana said. “And I certainly couldn’t abide some senseless ninny who didn’t know her ass from her elbow taking him away from me.”

Jennifer laughed in spite of herself at this unexpected vulgarity. Spencer just sighed as if he was used to this sort of thing by now and kissed his mother on the cheek. Diana gave him a cats’ smile and adjusted the collar of his shirt. 

“Of course, Jennifer has been married before, and she knows what to expect,” Jennifer wasn’t really sure how to react to this but gave a friendly smile just the same and took her opportunity to kiss Spencer on the cheek before walking into the kitchen to start her morning in earnest. 

Telling Henry the news of their betrothal elicited whoops of excitement from the boy, who bodily threw himself at Spencer while shrieking with delight. She’d gotten halfway through explaining that he wouldn’t be replacing Will, but rather adding to their family and bringing new chances and adventures and Henry had shrieked and jumped to his feet. 

“Spencer is going to be like a papa to me?” he’d asked excitedly. Jennifer couldn’t help but laugh at his honest joy and the ecstatic look that crossed Spencer’s face. He’d been worried about what Henry would say even though she’d tried to reassure him. Jennifer was glad to see that she had been right. 

“I’m going to try my very best to do right by you, Henry,” Spencer said, crouching to meet the boy’s line of sight. “And I love your mother very much. I think we are going to make a very special family together.”

\---

It was solidly the middle of autumn by the time Aaron Hotchner, the federal marshal Spencer and Morgan had spoken about, trotted up to the Reid house on his fine athletic horse. It had been so long since Spencer had mentioned anything about the visit that Jennifer had forgotten entirely about it. Drying her hands on a dishtowel, she watched the tall dark-haired man dismount and tether his horse to the fence post by their small stable. He was handsome and carried himself with the bearing of a military man, she thought. He waited for Spencer to open the door to the workshop before entering with his hat in his hands. 

Jennifer started coffee on the stove and poured some of the good white sugar in a bowl and placed it on a tray. She mentally ran through the options of what she could serve for food: there was some hard cheese in the larder and she could toast off some slices of anadama bread. It would have to be enough, because they didn’t have much else. She couldn’t help but be fiendishly curious about what Spencer and the government man were discussing in the workshop. Spencer had told her that he’d worked on government contracts in the past. Sometimes it became necessary for him to utilize his specific skills in the field of behaviorism or other broad knowledge in the service of his country. Jennifer wondered if it was something similar this time around. 

Arranging the coffee pot, delicate company china cups, the glass bowl of sugar and the hors d'oeuvres on an oak-inlaid tray, Jennifer nudged the back door open and shooed Henry back into the house where he was unsuccessfully trying to be casual about his eavesdropping. She crossed the yard carefully, looking out for roots and swells in the ground that could trip her up. When she tapped lightly on the workshop door and pushed it open, both Spencer and Mr. Hotchner stood when she entered. As she made her way to the counter with her tray, Spencer introduced her. 

“Agent Aaron Hotchner, I’m honored to present my fiance, Mrs. Jennifer LaMontagne. Jennifer, Agent Hotchner is joining us here lately from Boston. He’s been working with Dr. Gideon, my mentor.” 

Jennifer smiled warmly at the man. He was very handsome, though his face was serious. Dressed impeccably with not a hair out of place or a loose thread, he had an air of quiet authority about him, but Jennifer could sense an undercurrent of something more dangerous beneath the surface. She’d hate to be the one responsible for bringing that side out in him. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Jennifer said politely, ducking her head in deference. The dark man walked over to her and kissed her hand smoothly. 

“On the contrary, ma’am, the pleasure is most certainly mine. Dr. Reid here was telling me the good news of your recent betrothal,” he explained. She flushed with delight; it felt nice to hear the words from someone else. 

“You’re too kind, I’m sure,” she demurred. “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing some refreshment for you fellows. Now, I won’t keep you for long. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask,” she said. Spencer shot her a grateful smile that warmed her from the inside out. He looked calm and collected and was clearly in his element poring over maps and sheaths of paper with the other man.

Henry was waiting for her impatiently once she got inside, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Jennifer realized with some resignation that he was outgrowing his trousers again. The child simply grew like a weed. He was also practically vibrating with energy. She sent him outside to fetch firewood and run around to burn some of it off. 

Diana was sitting in her usual spot in the living room and smiled softly at Jennifer when she sat down in the chair opposite of her with her sewing. Recently, she’d been working on what she’d been jokingly referring to as her trousseau. In reality, she was just sewing a new set of sheets for the bed she and Spencer would be sharing. As a bachelor, he hadn’t paid much mind to his sheets and Jennifer knew she could whip up a better quality set. Quiet afternoons with Diana shared over sewing were some of her favorites. Though they often sat in silence, it was companionable rather than standoffish. They sewed late into the afternoon. Henry came in after a time and was busily enacting the Battle of Waterloo on the floor in front of the hearth with his toy soldiers, happy as a boy could be. 

Some time had passed before Jennifer heard the creak of the workshop door and the following thunk of it closing. She tried to be nonchalant while she craned her neck around the door to watch Spencer and Agent Hotchner shake hands before the older man mounted his horse and nudged it up the dirt track leading to the road, tipping his hat to her as he passed. Jennifer could see the glint of a gun on his waist as he rode past her. A shiver raced up her spine as she looked around the yard to see Spencer making his way back to the house with his hands shoved in his pockets against the cold. She’d have to knit some mittens for him before winter set in. 

Spencer entered the house in a rush of cold air, cheeks rosy and hair all mussed. There was an energy about him that seemed to crackle with intensity. Instantly, Jennifer knew that something significant had happened during his meeting with the federal marshal. She could see it in his eyes, wild and bright. 

Henry had all but exploded holding his questions in. “Was that a real federal marshal, Spencer? Did he have a derringer? Was his horse really that fearsome up close?” 

Jennifer laughed. “Easy, boy, let him catch his breath,” she chuckled. 

Spencer stood warming himself by the fire, hands stretched out toward the flames. 

“He was indeed a real federal marshal, Henry, from Boston, and I am sure he had more than the gun I saw at his waist and the one I saw on his ankle. And that horse wasn’t fearsome, in fact, that animal probably gets better treatment than most foot soldiers in the Army. A man like Agent Hotchner has to be able to trust his mount implicitly. If he were to become injured or attacked, his horse would protect him and bring him back to his comrades safely, no matter the cost,” he explained. 

Henry looked up at him wide-eyed with wonder. “Do the horses fight?” he asked, enthralled. Jennifer was about to tell him not to be foolish when Spencer spoke first. 

“If their rider were threatened, I think they would,” Spencer answered seriously. “Horses are extremely intelligent animals. I read of a mount in the French expeditionary forces that once carried his unconscious rider back 50 miles from behind enemy lines, evading capture and detection the entire time.”

Henry’s eyes were as big as saucers now, holding on to Spencer’s every word. “Who trains the horses to do that?”

“Oh, I imagine they employ the best horsemen for the job. You can only understand a horse once you’ve ridden, you see. And it would have to be a very patient individual to learn the horses’ habits and personalities.” 

“D’you think I could do that one day?” The boy asked with wondrous anticipation in his voice. Any other adult, particularly one as erudite and accomplished as Spencer, may have been bothered by Henry’s rapid-fire questions. Spencer was not phased, however. He always took the time to consider Henry’s questions and answer them in a thoughtful and (more or less) age appropriate manner. Jennifer was thrilled that Spencer cared for Henry the way he did. Not that she had worried, but there hadn’t been a cause to after all. 

Spencer gave the blond boy a thoughtful look, considering his question. “I think you might. It would be important for you to study biology and equine science, and you’d certainly need to find someone established to study under. A stint in the military probably wouldn’t hurt either,” he said, and would have continued before Jennifer cut him off. 

“No,” she said with a voice like a shard of ice, sharp and frigid. “Not the military. Never the military,” she finished. Distantly she knew Spencer hadn’t meant anything by suggesting Henry join the military. And probably he was right, too, but as soon as the words passed his lips Jennifer was back on the porch of their Louisiana home holding a telegram telling her Will was killed in action. She would not receive another telegram of the sort again, not if she had anything to say about it. Spencer and Henry were both looking at her with questions on their faces. She couldn’t bring herself to explain away her reaction nor tell them the truth, so Jennifer settled on stalking out of the living room through the kitchen and into the backyard, barely managing to keep from rattling the hinges on the way out. 

Her remembrance of the day her world was turned upside down with the news of Will’s death had shocked her with its intensity; first the sheer terror and then blank numbness, a numbness she recognized all too well. Jennifer turned her face to the cold sting of the salty sea wind and took deep, shaking breaths, trying to stay present. She could not lose herself here. Her breath was coming in gasps though she tried to keep it measured and correct. She braced herself against the rough-hewn walls of Celeste’s small stable and blinked rapidly to clear her vision. Henry leaving, waving goodbye, Henry sending letters from some faraway jungle, Henry dead at the bottom of the ocean just like his father...it was too much. An anguished sob ripped out of her throat and Jennifer sunk to the ground against the splintery walls. She didn’t care that she was probably sitting in horse shit and God knows what else. Burying her face in her knees, she surrendered to the tears and let them soak through the fabric of her apron and skirt. Henry was growing up just so very fast and she knew she’d have to let him take his place in the world someday, yes, but must she confront that reality now? 

Jennifer judged that she’d been outside for a quarter of an hour, give or take a few minutes, when she heard footsteps crunching through the dead grass toward her. She heaved a deep sigh, knowing she wasn’t ready to face Spencer yet. 

“I just need a few moments, Spencer, I promise I’m alright. I just need to think,” she called without lifting her head up from her lap. To her surprise, it was not Spencer who answered. Rather, it was Diana. 

“Think all you’d like. I just thought I’d come out to tell you that someone understands what you’re going through. Or at the very least, I think I do,” the older woman said plainly before lowering herself to the ground and sitting with a slight groan. “It’ll be the devil to pay standing back up. You’ll have to hoist me, you know,” Diana said to her. Jennifer just blinked at her in astonishment. “Well, don’t gawp like a fool, girl. I know you heard me.”

Jennifer blinked rapidly and cleared her throat to answer. “I did hear you, yes. I’m just surprised to see you here. I thought you were-”

Diana cut her off. “You thought I was Spencer, yes I _know_. You’ve said that. And I know you’re not a feeble-minded or weak-spirited woman, in fact you are just the opposite. What remains to be seen, however, is if you and Spencer will break down the walls you’ve spent years building around yourselves or if you’ll take the easy way out and bury your head in the sand. The world moves on, reality marches on, whether you believe it to or not. Trust me, I know,” she said, tapping her temple with a long and elegant finger.

Jennifer was not quite sure how to respond. Whatever she had expected, it was not this. Still, Diana forged ahead. 

“I know better than most what it’s like to live in your head when the outside world is howling away with its demands and insinuations. And still I tell you it does not stop. It will not make things better. The only way out is through, my girl.”

The evident maternal tenderness in Diana’s tone was enough to do Jennifer in. It was so different from the way her own mother spoke to her. Though Diana’s words were frank and her speech unencumbered by the niceties of polite society, she never spoke to Jennifer with contempt or scorn. Diana did not keep a ledger in her head of Jennifer’s remarks, ever-ready to toss one back in her face when the moment suited. And certainly Diana had never raised a hand in violence against her. 

She had to bite her fist to keep the sobs from coming out in great big shuddering wails, but her whole body was shaking with them. She couldn’t catch her breath. Through her tears and distress she felt Diana’s hand on her back, soothing and firm, and Diana’s voice traveling through the fog toward her. 

“That’s it, child. You must let it all out. One must remove the sickness before one can heal. Or at least that’s what they tell me.” 

‘I can’t lose Henry too,” she said, voice quiet and subdued. “Not the same way I lost his father. I will not allow it. I shall not.”

Diana made a soft hmm-ing noise, appearing deep in thought. “I suppose you cannot. But could you also live with clipping his wings before he even leaves the nest? Could you live with his resentment, under the surface for decades before it spills over and you’re left old and alone with a child who could never forgive you?” 

Diana’s words were jarring in their gruff perspicacity, but deep down Jennifer knew the older woman was right. She couldn’t force Henry to stay at her apron strings for the rest of his life. He was brimming with potential that the world deserved to experience, she knew. Taking deep and steadying breaths, she tried to focus as best she could on Diana’s calming hand at her back and tried to regulate her breathing to a more even pattern. After several minutes of this, Jennifer felt her pulse return to normal and she wasn’t as dizzy as she had been. 

“There. All better?” Diana asked her as Jennifer wiped her tears away with a lawn handkerchief she pulled from her waistband. Jennifer nodded, and it was true. She did feel better. Sometimes a good cry was all a body needed. 

Letting a long breath out, she stood up from her inelegant sprawl in the dirt. She helped Diana to her feet after brushing the dirt and debris from her bum and the backs of her stockings. The woman gave Jennifer’s hand a tiny squeeze. 

“Think you’re ready to go back inside? If Spencer hasn’t been driving himself mad watching from the house I’ll eat my knitting,” Diana remarked. Jennifer sighed and threw a glance at the weathered house, starting to feel a bit guilty for exploding on Spencer. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” Jennifer answered. The two women walked the short distance back to the house bowed against the late fall wind. Gusts blew leaves and dust around their feet as they walked. Inside the warm structure Jennifer felt herself relax a bit; this had never proven to be anything other than a safe place. And surely if there was anyone who understood emotional outbursts, it was Spencer. He’d shown her how keenly he understood her multiple times over. 

The man himself rounded the corner and stopped short when he saw her. 

“Jennifer, I am so, so sorry. You should know I never intended--” she cut him off with a raised palm. 

“Spencer, I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I know better than to slam doors in anger. And I know you didn’t mean anything by it, truly,” she said, looking into his big brown eyes, searching for a sign that he was disgusted or disappointed by her. There was none to be found, though, just warmth and understanding shining forth. Spencer gave her a small smile and held his arms open. Jennifer threw herself into his embrace and smelled the good clean scent that radiated off him, burying her head in his chest as he squeezed her tight. 

“It’s alright to be upset, Jennifer. Your feelings are valid, I swear,” he said softly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “You’ve been through so much in such a short period of time. It’s more than most people have to bear in their entire lives.”

“Where’s Henry?” Jennifer asked in a small voice, face still muffled by the flannel of Spencer’s shirt. She heard the rumble of his voice in his chest as he answered. 

“I think he’s writing something for you,” Spencer said. Jennifer raised her head in puzzlement. He continued, explaining, “He very much wanted to go outside and see that you were alright. I convinced him there was some value to be had in writing your thoughts down and then sharing them with a person.”

She blinked up at him. In what fantasy world world had she stumbled, where she was blessed with not one but two extraordinary men as lovers and partners? Without her ever asking, Spencer had accepted Henry with lovingly open arms. He never made her boy feel like a nuisance and encouraged all the best qualities in him. She was nearly too stunned to speak. 

“Thank you,” she finally managed to say. Spencer just pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead and smiled down at her. Wordlessly, he took her hand and led her to the sitting room where Henry was folding his letter carefully. When he saw them, he jumped to his feet and ran over to hug Jennifer about the waist .

“Mama!” he cried, little hands buried in the knot of her apron. “Oh, Henry,” Jennifer cooed, bending to hoist her boy into her arms. He was truly getting to be too big for it, but she couldn’t help herself. She smoothed his soft blond hair back from his face and kissed his cheek. 

“I love you so much, darling. I was wrong to leave like that,” she said. Henry produced his meticulously folded letter and gave it to her. Jennifer shook it open with one hand and held the lined paper up to the light so she could read it better. Henry’s penmanship was certainly improving, she noticed with pride. The letter read:

_Dear Mama,_

_I am sorry that I made you upset. You are my favorite Mama and I want you to be my Mama forever. I love you Henry_

Tears welled up afresh in Jennifer’s eyes. She knew she was lucky indeed to have a son like Henry. The world may be unkind to him, but he had such a good heart. Jennifer pressed a kiss to his cheek and hugged him closer. 

“You are my very favorite boy, Henry. I love you so much, and I’m so proud to be your mother,” she said, voice thick with emotion. 

Spencer cleared his throat and Jennifer could see his eyes were bright with tears. He shot her a quick smile before disappearing through the kitchen. She could hear him open the back door. 

“Now,” she said, setting Henry down on the floor. “How about you and I play a game of checkers before I have to get supper ready?” 

After an enthusiastic game of checkers where Jennifer in fact had to struggle at times to keep Henry at bay, she had to get dinner going and left her boy playing in the sitting room. She fried up some pork chops and onions in a cast-iron skillet along with and set her biscuit dough to proof on the back of the range. As she was slicing carrots by the sink, Spencer walked in with an arm full of wood. 

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” he said. Jennifer noticed how pink his cheeks were and could feel the chill rolling off him. “I, for one, am very glad that I do not have to sleep alone anymore.” She blushed fiercely and Spencer gave her a wicked smile. Jennifer tossed a chunk of carrot at him, which he couldn’t quite dodge with an armful of wood. 

“Cheeky!” she scolded, though she was joking. She turned her attention back to the task in front of her and finished preparing the ingredients for the glazed carrots she was making. They would have to make another trip to town soon, she realized. If it was going to continue to grow colder and colder she’d need to be sure she was making filling, warming meals for the family. Her family, she reminded herself. They were all a family now, or would be soon enough. She and Spencer had not talked much about setting a date for the wedding, but Jennifer was aware that circumstances might necessitate one happening sooner rather than later. She hadn’t missed any of her monthlies yet, but it was only a matter of time, she knew. It was not as if she and Spencer were taking any precautions against a child. She smiled to think of Spencer as a father and Henry as an older brother. 

It was time to get dinner on the table and call everyone in from their various activities: Diana was reading in her room, Henry playing in the sitting room, and Spencer presumably somewhere else in the house. Her curiosity as to what he was doing was quickened when she heard scraping and dragging noises coming from Spencer’s bedroom. Jennifer made her way toward the source of the noise and discovered him rearranging his (their?) furniture. Specifically, he was tugging the big bed into the center of the wall it was against so there was space on the side where it had been nestled in the corner of the room. He straightened when she rapped lightly on the doorframe with her knuckles. 

Spencer smiled at her. “Hi there,” he said fondly. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, though admittedly it was obvious. Spencer gestured to the newly arranged furniture. 

“I’m making room for both of us. This has been a bachelor’s room for too long.” 

Jennifer beamed at him and crossed the few steps between them to give him a hug. 

“You are the most wonderful,” she paused to kiss him on the lips, “most amazing man,” she finished with another kiss. 

“Well, I figured you'd like to have a night table and not have to crawl over me every time you get out of bed,” he explained, holding her in his arms and grinning at her. 

“I’m sure that would be wonderful,” Jennifer said. She was distracted by the patch of exposed skin at the hollow of Spencer’s throat and felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him there. She decided to indulge and was rewarded by his sharp intake of breath. 

“Supper time,” she murmured into his skin. Spencer made a noise almost like a growl deep in his chest. 

“Sometimes, I think that you just like to tease me,” he said. Jennifer wiggled out of his arms and gave him her most dazzlingly innocent look. 

“Me? Never?” she said, before exiting the room to get dinner on the table. 

\---

When they were all full of good food and conversation, warm and lazy around the fire, Spencer cleared his throat. They all looked at him expectantly. 

“I’ll be spending several days a week in town for the foreseeable future,” he said. “Agent Hotchner requires some assistance on a government matter and I’ve told him I would be glad to help where I can.”

Jennifer felt the briefest pang of unease in her stomach. It wasn’t as if she would be completely alone; Henry and Diana would be there as well and the three of them could certainly manage...it was just that town was so very far away from their house, it suddenly seemed. 

Spencer must have caught the worried expression flash over her face, for he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“I’ll be coming home at night, don’t you fret,” he said reassuringly. Jennifer gave him a small grateful smile. 

“Well I’ll be sure to send you with our grocery list,” she said. “It’ll be nice to not wait until the weekend.”

Spencer nodded his assent. “It will be no trouble at all, I’m sure.”

The foursome adjourned to bed; Diana to her room opposite the oneJennifer shared with Spencer and Henry to the attic loft, which he’d declared his castle keep. She’d expected Henry to balk at the prospect of having to sleep upstairs alone, but he couldn’t have been more thrilled. He’d taken to the idea of her and Spencer’s engagement immediately, which warmed her heart immensely and made her significantly less apprehensive about the entire arrangement. 

Jennifer kissed Henry on the forehead after settling him into bed. She was sitting on the edge and had just finished reading him a chapter of Huck Finn, which he was enjoying immensely. Spencer typically let them share this time by themselves, Henry and Jennifer’s special nighttime routine. This night was no different; Spencer was waiting for Jennifer when she climbed down from the ladder. He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her close. She loved how tactile he was the longer they were together. It was clear Spencer was growing more comfortable with physical contact. He rarely ever flinched or shied away from her touch anymore and he was initiating embraces and caresses more and more. It was as if he had finally been convinced Jennifer wouldn’t pull away from his touch or react in disgust when he held her. 

Jennifer leaned back in her fiance’s arms and gazed fondly up at his handsome face: those plush, full lips, sharp cheekbones, and incredibly expressive eyes that had the tendency to drive her quite wild. 

“I swear Henry will have built a raft and tried to sail it down the river before the year is out. I had no idea Mark Twain wrote instructional manuals for boys,” she remarked. If she’d thought Henry had enjoyed the Odyssey, it was nothing compared to his rapturous adoration of all things Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, and Injun Joe. 

“Maybe we’ll make an engineer out of him yet. I could put in a good word for him at Harvard, you know. I could get him in with one telegram, in fact,” Spencer said, and Jennifer could detect the tiniest hint of a boast there. She decided to let him have it, for he really did have so much to be proud of. Tugging the lanky doctor along beside her, Jennifer made her way toward their bedroom, now slightly rearranged to fit them both better. Once the bedding she was sewing was finished, the room would look very nice indeed. 

Spencer watched her reverently every night as she performed her ablutions and tonight was no exception. She could feel his eyes on him as she changed out of her winter house dress and stripped off her stockings, chemise, and bloomers to change into her warm flannel nightdress. When Jennifer unpinned her hair from it’s confines she looked over her shoulder and smiled at Spencer. He loved to brush out her hair at the end of the night, and she loved letting him do it. There was something about the simple intimacy of the action that Jennifer found she craved. 

Spencer moved to stand behind her and she could feel the heat of his body radiating off him. His long, expressive fingers combed luxuriously through her hair, untwining the serviceable braid she kept it in to keep it out of her face as she worked throughout the day. Jennifer felt the stress of the afternoon melting away as the digits moved skillfully through her locks. She hummed contentedly and leaned into the touch. Once all the snarls were gone and her hair fell smoothly over her shoulders, Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of her head and met her eyes in the mirror with a smile. 

“Absolutely the definition of perfection,” he remarked. Jennifer flushed with pleasure and tilted her head up to look up at him. The look of adoration in his eyes was enough to knock a woman flat on her backside. Spencer guided her up from her seat in front of the low dresser and toward their bed. She could tell that he was proud of his idea to pull the bed away from the wall and she made a show of walking around the side of the bed and climbing under the covers. 

“Now this is positively luxurious,” she said, “even Mrs. McKinley surely does not climb into bed with such ease,” only teasing just a little. Still, Spencer was flushed with pride and not at all concerned. 

“I want to make this a home for us. It’s not just my home that you’re living in,” he explained, laying his long body out on the bed next to her. “I want this to be our home, together. Does that make sense?” he finished quietly. Jennifer turned over on her side and looked up at him. 

“It does,” she assured him. “I promise you it already feels like home. It feels more like home than the home I grew up in does, in fact,” she admitted quietly. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to say thank you enough.”

“Stay with me,” was all Spencer said. Jennifer nodded as she pulled the covers up over them and snuggled close to her fiance’s body. He shuffled down in the covers next to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush to his body. Jennifer could feel the stress and tension from the day melt from her bones as Spencer held her close and traced random patterns over her skin with his fingers soothingly. The last thing she noticed before she drifted off to sleep was a whispered “I love you” and the ghost of a kiss on the side of her neck. She was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for sticking with me thus far. I welcome any and all feedback and would love to hear from y'all!


	12. Pruina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pruina (n) : hoarfrost
> 
>  **EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT** in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay, friends! We will be picking up the pace here soon, but we've got some ~sexual healing in this chapter.

When she was a small child, Jennifer’s grandmere had told her that if there was snow in October, there’d be a blizzard come April. Jennifer was musing over this maxim as she watched the fluffy flakes fall from the sky. Snow was in short supply in the bayou, and she found she missed it. Henry, for his part, was practically levitating from his seat at the table with excitement. He’d never seen snow before and he was beyond eager to get outside and play in it. It was all Jennifer could do to force some oatmeal with pear preserves down his throat. 

Spencer was sitting at the table sipping his coffee and musing over a sheath of paper. He’d be heading into town shortly, and Jennifer was trying her best to sublimate the feeling of apprehension growing in her belly. Really, she had nothing to be worried about. There _truly_ was nothing to be worried about. Spencer must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced up from his reading to give her a warm smile that chased away the tendrils of fear that were edging in. 

“I daresay the best part of my day in town will be coming home to you,” he said. Jennifer smiled; Spencer always seemed to know what to say to allay her fears, even though he insisted he was socially awkward and clumsy and never knew what to say.

“I’ll be waiting in the yard, I’m sure,” Jennifer answered. She busied her hands in the sink to hide how they were still trembling the slightest bit. 

“Mama may I now please go outside and play in the snow?” Henry pleaded, the picture of supplication. Jennifer sighed; there was no use in trying to keep him in the house and at his lessons, not with snow falling like it was. 

She acquiesced. “Go ahead, then, but you’re wearing your hat and your scarf. I won’t have you getting sick, not when you’ve just gotten better,” she reminded him. Although Henry knew better than to argue, he still opened his mouth to protest but was quieted by a single pointed raised eyebrow from Spencer. Obediently, the boy fetched his outerwear and put it on without another word. With a quick hug to Jennifer’s waist, Henry was out the door with a whoop and racing across the yard before she’d even had time to draw breath. 

Spencer chuckled. “The exuberance of youth is remarkable,” he said. 

“Don’t I know it,” Jennifer replied, sitting on the edge of the table by Spencer’s papers. He laced his fingers with hers and gave her hand a squeeze. 

“There’s a lot of change going on right now. It makes sense that you’re feeling apprehensive,” he reassured her. “And if you want me to tell Agent Hotchner that he’ll have to figure out a way to bring the case to me, I will.”

Jennifer felt tears rush to her eyes as she realized how far Spencer would truly go to make sure she was happy. She shook her head quickly, clearing her vision. 

“No, I don’t want you to do that on my account. Really, I’ll be fine. I’m just being silly,” she said. “God knows I’ve survived much worse,” she finished grimly. Spencer patted her knee as he rose and laid a kiss on the crown of her head. 

“You have,” he agreed. “And if you change your mind, all you have to do is say the word,” Spencer assured her as he shrugged into his peacoat. “Though I think you are a sight better off here with a pistol than I am armed with just my wits.”

Although Jennifer knew he was teasing, she felt fear simmer again in her stomach with the mention of the firearm. She smiled reassuringly at him, trying to convince herself as much as him that she would be fine. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said to Spencer, who was wrapping the thick wool scarf she’d knitted him for his birthday around his neck. He held his arms open and she stepped into his embrace, burying her face in his chest. “I love you,” she whispered into the thick fabric. 

“And I love you,” Spencer answered. He tilted her chin up with a finger and kissed her softly on the lips. “So much more than I ever thought possible,” he admitted with a smile before taking his leave. 

Jennifer watched him as he saddled up Celeste with careworn but serviceable tack and mounted the mare. Again, she was reminded how good Spencer looked on horseback. It was like he and the horse were one being, so easily they moved down the lane and round the corner out of her sight. If anything, she at least trusted Celeste to carry her rider back safe. 

She bundled up in her own outerwear: one of Will’s thick Army coats, a long scarf, and a knit cap pulled low over her ears. Bracing herself for the shock of snow for the first time in years, she pushed open the back door and walked into the yard to begin her morning chores. Flakes stuck to her eyelashes as she looked around for Henry. She spied him crouched in a patch of grass trying to scrape enough snow together for a snowman, though there wasn’t enough yet accumulated to get the job done. She called him over and set him to collecting the eggs from the chicken coop; reminding him how careful he had to be while handling them. Henry was good with animals in general, and the chickens that so tortured Spencer were no exception. 

For her part, Jennifer lugged some firewood from the pile at the back of Celeste’s stable, which she shared with the milk cow and her calf. The logs were awkward to carry; not large enough to use the wheelbarrow but not small enough to easily carry in her hands. She made do with big armfuls and several trips, but by the time she was satisfied Jennifer’s back was sore and she had splinters in her fingers. Gnawing the biggest one free from her index finger, she spotted Henry and called him over. 

“Why don’t we see if we can get a fire going inside and take turns reading from Huck Finn?” She asked him. “When there’s enough snow on the ground, I promise I’ll show you all my best tricks for building snowmen. And maybe we can ambush Spencer with snowballs later,” she cajoled. 

“Really, mama?” he asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jennifer chuckled and mussed his hair under his hat. 

“Yes, really,” she answered, steering him toward the house and out of the cold. They stopped just inside the door to shake off their snowy clothes and pull off their boots, each grabbing an armful of wood. Diana had woken up while they were outside and was sitting in her usual spot on the sofa, curled up with her housecoat and book. 

“Good morning Jennifer, good morning, Henry,” the older woman said in greeting. “The first snow of the season, is it not?” 

Jennifer nodded as she dumped her armful of wood on the floor. Henry followed suit. 

“Mama is going to teach me to build a snowman later!” he informed Diana excitedly. The woman looked intently at him over the thin gold rims of her glasses. 

“Is that so?” Diana mused. “You’ll have to ask Spencer to help you build an igloo. When he was your age, he’d build an entire network of huts and tunnels across the entire yard. I’m sure he’d love to pass along some of his secrets,” she said. Henry’s eyes were as big as saucers.

“D’you really think he would?” he asked, eyes flicking excitedly between the two women, who couldn’t help but chuckle at his exuberance. 

“Oh, I am sure he’d be delighted,” Diana assured him. “Once I realized I couldn’t keep him from bringing books outside, it was nearly impossible to keep him inside at all. Winter, spring, summer, it didn’t matter. He’d be off somewhere reading until the sun came down.” Jennifer could see the memories misting in Diana’s eyes and ushered Henry toward the other loveseat in the room so they could read without intruding on Diana’s private moment. 

Fortunately, the adventures contained in Mr. Twain’s pages were still just as riveting to Henry as they always were and he was easily plied by reading. Truly, he was beginning to excel in his pronunciation and fluency in reading aloud and Jennifer was very proud of him. She did hope to be able to send him to a proper school soon and didn’t want him to be more behind than he had to be. Mother and son passed two hours this way; passing the book back and forth between them and taking turns reading. Jennifer was able to focus her attention on the task at hand, for the most part. She had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. What if Spencer ran into someone who knew of her from before? Or met someone who her mother had poisoned against her in the course of his work with the federal agent? 

She logically knew that Spencer’s love for her wouldn’t change in the face of random peoples’ inaccurate opinions of her, but she was still worried about what people would say. She knew better than most how fast and vicious gossip could travel. Roslyn had opened her wrists before the rumor mill could truly ramp up, thankfully, but Jennifer had been left to deal with the aftermath, the curious looks, and judgment hiding behind their thin masks of pity. It had left a bad taste in her mouth for idle chatter. She found it so often slipped into maliciousness that revealed more about the speaker than the subject. 

They ate a simple cold lunch of sandwiches and Jennifer roped Henry into polishing silverware to keep him busy while she worked distractedly at the household accounts at the table next to him. Spencer had kept immaculate records, so her work was really very simple. She simply had to fill in sums and follow his formula, which was ingenious in its clarity and ease. Even so, she made little mistakes that could have been avoided if she were more mindful, which frustrated her. 

When Jennifer finally corrected her errors and balanced the columns, she shut the book with a sigh of relief. Bookkeeping was not one of her strong suits, but it needed to be done to make sure they were not extending beyond their means. And it was another weight off her shoulders, at least until the next month. A childhood and adolescence filled with uncertainty and want had left her hypersensitive to scarcity, and she had promised herself long ago that Henry would never know the feeling that had gnawed in her belly for far too long. 

Bookkeeping finished, she returned to the never-ending roster of household chores that could fill her day. She’d churned butter the day before and thought she might divide it up: some salted, some plain, and she wondered if she could sweeten some with maple syrup or apple preserves. That would certainly take her mind off things and they’d have something to look forward to on cold winter mornings. Jennifer worked at the counter with dedication. She found it easier to work the ingredients into the plain butter with her hands and she enjoyed the feeling of creating something completely from her own labor. Carefully, she packed it into crocks and tucked them in the back of the larder where they’d stay cold. 

Jennifer managed with some difficulty to find small tasks to fill her time until she heard Celeste’s hooves clatter in the dooryard at a quarter to eight. She dried her hands of dishwater in her apron as she raced to the door, barely stopping to jam her feet into her boots and stumble into the yard to see Spencer dismounting. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. He was whole and unharmed; nothing had happened to him. He was only consulting, that was true, but perhaps Jennifer had a harder time saying goodbye to the man she loved than she expected. After all, it was not that long ago that she’d said goodbye to her lover and he never came back to her. 

Spencer looped Celeste’s reins over the fence post and turned to face her with open arms and a smile on his face. Jennifer raced into those sinuously strong arms and buried her face in his shirt, listening to the calming steady beat of his heart under her cheek. She immediately felt a sense of relief wash over her. Spencer kissed the top of her head and squeezed her tighter to his lean body. 

“It seems someone missed me today,” he mused quietly into her hair. Jennifer nodded against his chest. 

“I did,” she admitted. “More than I thought I would, in fact,” she said. Spencer grasped her by her shoulders and tugged her back from him enough to look down into her eyes. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked, concern plainly written on his features. “Did something happen?”

Jennifer shook her head no. “Nothing happened. I just don’t know that I’ve ever been here alone without you and it was...well, I suppose I can let my imagination run away with me,” she finished, somewhat shamefaced at her temerity. 

Spencer made a comforting noise and kissed her properly, leaving her breathless for a moment. 

“I’m home now,” he said. “And I promise you, no harm will come to you when you’re with me. I’ll keep us all safe.”

Jennifer regarded Spencer with curiosity. She’d never before heard him speak in such terms regarding their safety. She wondered what prompted this, but judged now was not the time to ask. The temperature outside was only getting colder and she’d kept a plate warm on the back of the stove for Spencer. Henry had reluctantly gone to bed, disappointed that Spencer hadn’t returned in time for his promised snow architecture lesson, but was mollified when Jennifer promised she’d send Spencer up into the loft to say goodnight when he got home. 

“I’d better get Celeste settled,” Spencer said, giving her hand a final squeeze. “And there is little sense in you staying out here in the cold waiting for me. You should go inside,” he suggested. Jennifer huffed a bit in annoyance, having spent all day waiting for him and unwilling to part from him now, even for a minute. Still, she went inside because she knew he was right; it was very cold outside after all. She was just putting his plate on the table and pouring them both cups of tea when he came inside with red cheeks and windblown hair. 

“Cold nights like these make me very happy that I am no longer a bachelor,” he said as he sat down at the table with her. “A wife makes sleeping in the winter a much more palatable endeavor,” Spencer mused, giving her the lopsided grin she loved so much. 

Jennifer couldn’t help but return his smile, even if he was being cheeky. “See if I warm you up anytime soon,” she teased back. He held up his hands in mock defeat and attacked his supper with vigor. She sipped her tea as he ate in silence, watching how methodically he cut up his food. Jennifer had never seen anything like it, but good manners kept her from mentioning anything. It seemed that Spencer had an endless supply of quirks waiting to be discovered. 

When he’d finished his last forkful of bacon and cabbage, Spencer wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his plate to the side, looking at her intently. 

“I don’t like to say this, Jennifer, especially because I know how anxious you’ve been today, but it’s better you know,” he said. Jennifer felt her heart drop into her stomach. What could it be? She opened her mouth to ask but Spencer shook his head quickly. “Please let me explain. When I spoke with Agent Hotchner today, he explained to me his purpose in Biddeford.” Spencer took a deep breath. “There has been a concerning rash of disappearances from Woonsocket to Lowell to Worcester to here. People go missing, and body parts are found in the town the next person disappears from.”

Jennifer’s stomach leaped to her throat at this news. “Body parts?” she asked trepidatiously. She did not like the sounds of that. 

Spencer nodded grimly. “Yes. Body parts. Never the same ones, either,” he said with a grimace. “It wasn’t until Agent Hotchner’s brother alerted him to what he’d heard in the boarding house he runs in Boston. Workers on both the railroad and in the fabric mills have been talking about it long enough for him to wonder if there was any truth to the rumors.”

The anxiety Jennifer had worked so hard to sublimate bubbled up in her stomach and she had to grind her teeth to keep her jaw from trembling. It sounded like a serialized story in a newspaper, but this was actually happening in reality, in her reality. She could feel Spencer’s eyes on her; he was watching to see if she was about to break down. Jennifer took another deep breath and asked, 

“And how did you and Dr. Gideon get involved?” 

“Dr. Gideon has consulted for the government for years now. He even wrote a paper after interviewing the family of John Wilkes Booth with his conception of the man’s personality,” Spencer explained. “And since I am in Biddeford, there is a man who has gone missing here. It does seem providential and I am the natural choice.” 

Jennifer knew he was right. She couldn’t imagine there were many others with Spencer’s skillset and formidable intellect wandering around New England, and of course, he had to help where he could. She wondered what it said about her, being drawn to men with such strong senses of duty and responsibility. 

“I see,” she said, unsure of what else she could say at the moment without betraying her fears and worries. Spencer covered her hands with one of his own big ones and stroked his thumb across her knuckles. 

“I know this is upsetting and frightening. I don’t blame you for thinking that this isn’t what you agreed to when you accepted my proposal,” Spencer said quietly. Jennifer shook her head at him. 

“No, no, that’s not what I’m thinking,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t have you turn a blind eye to injustice on my account. That’s not who you are, and I love you for that. I’m...I am worried, I confess,” she murmured, glancing down at their entwined hands. It smarts to admit it, but this frightens me.”

“No harm will come to you, or Henry, I swear,” Spencer said fervently. “You won’t be in harm’s way, I won’t allow it. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Jennifer tried to smile at him, but it didn’t quite stick convincingly on her lips. Instead, she busied herself with the dishes as Spencer finished his tea at the table. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the disembodied limbs Spencer had mentioned, ragged edges and spurting blood soaking the soil. She blinked rapidly to clear the macabre sights from her vision. 

Much to her chagrin, Jennifer was startled and jumped when Spencer came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. 

“Spencer! You startled me,” she gasped. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and he made a concerned noise low in his throat 

“I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t realize you were so intent on the dishes,” he said quietly. Jennifer let her shaking hands rest in the soapy water. 

“I suppose I am just a bundle of nerves,” she admitted. Spencer’s hands moved from her waist up to her shoulders where he rubbed the tense muscles there. 

“The dishes can wait,” he said. “You’re right, you are nervous and what you need is to relax, not do more chores.”

With a final glance at the dishes, Jennifer rinsed her hands off in clean water from the tap and dried them on her apron. She sagged back against Spencer’s chest and let his arms hold her up. He wasn’t wrong, she knew, rest would do her good. She’d spent the better part of the day struggling to harness her nerves and she’d run out of energy to hold them at bay. Jennifer allowed Spencer to lead her to their bedroom and tuck her into bed. 

When he climbed into the bed and stretched his long body beside her, Jennifer finally felt like she could begin to relax a bit. She always felt safe in Spencer’s arms, nestled against his chest. It was also sometimes easier to talk to him like this, facing away from him so she couldn’t see the depth of feeling in his expression that often threw her off guard. 

“I don’t know why, I just have a bad feeling about this,” Jennifer murmured. Spencer was silent for a moment before he spoke. His voice rumbled against her back. 

“Those who have experienced trauma in their lives often continue to experience hypervigilance as time goes on,” he said cautiously. Was he waiting for her to insist she wasn’t crazy? She didn’t know that she wasn’t, that was the problem. She didn’t say anything, waiting to see if he’d continue. “Perhaps you need to find something that can distract you,” he said. Spencer shifted slightly against her and flexed his fingers experimentally against her abdomen. 

Jennifer knew what he was offering, a chance to lose herself in the physicality of sex, a chance to focus on nothing but the joining of their bodies. She also knew she would have to come to terms with her anxieties sooner rather than later, and pushing them aside had proven fruitless. It was a tempting offer, though, and she wavered only a moment before pressing back against him and tilting her head back to brush an answering kiss on the underside of his chin. 

Spencer’s hands slid up from their position on her stomach to skim over her breasts and push the sleeves of her nightgown down her shoulders, exposing the freckle-dappled skin there to the night air. He laid a line of soft kisses down the column of her neck and down her arm before gently shifting their bodies so he was above her, propped on one elbow and his legs between hers. 

He was looking down at her with such fondness in his eyes that Jennifer had to fight the urge to look away, anywhere but his adoring gaze. Spencer must have been able to sense her discomfort, but he wouldn’t let her succumb to it. Instead, he turned her chin up and held her eyes with his own, making sure she was looking at him as he spoke. 

“You are the most incomparable woman I have ever met. You are allowed to have trying days. It does not change what I feel for you. Not in the slightest,” he said. Jennifer swallowed shakily and nodded, surging up to meet his lips with her own to swallow any more words of praise that she feared would overwhelm her. 

Their lips crashed together in a dance older than time, older than memory, and their bodies moved together and apart with a knowledge written in their bones. Spencer had grown more confident in their lovemaking, Jennifer noticed. Where before his touches were often hesitant until he was absolutely certain of her arousal, he’d been less restrained as of late. Now, his fingers moved confidently against her, tracing maddening patterns up her bare thighs on their inexorable climb to her sex. Jennifer was nearly weeping with want by the time those tortuous digits slid through the wetness collected between her folds to circle her nub and dip ever so slightly into her hole. 

Spencer swallowed every moan that fell from her lips with his own while his free hand teased first one nipple and then the other. As she squirmed underneath his ministrations, she could feel his arousal grinding insistently against her thigh. Jennifer reached a shaking hand down between them to get her hands on him, she needed to feel him against her skin. She felt Spencer’s lips twitch in a smile against her own as he broke their kiss. 

“More?” he whispered against her neck, as he obliged her by flicking open the button of his pants and shimmying them down his narrow hips. Jennifer made a needy noise that was bordering on a whine and let her fingers fly over the newly exposed skin. When her hand wrapped around his shaft, Spencer moaned obscenely and pushed up into her grip making the sticky fluid that had beaded at the tip dribble over her knuckles. Jennifer could see the way his muscles bunched under his smooth skin with the effort it took to hold himself back, but she didn’t want him to. No, in fact, she needed just the opposite, to let herself get lost in him. She needed him to take control because she certainly couldn’t maintain the pretense any longer. Jennifer felt full of an indescribable need, an ache deep in her soul that told her she needed to let go, to surrender. 

“Spencer, please,” she choked out brokenly as his eyes, darker now than they usually were, met her own. “Take me. I need you to...to…” she trailed off, unable to find the right words and almost screaming in frustration. 

“I know,” he said soothingly. “I know, my sweet girl. It’s alright, I’ve got you,” Spencer murmured, even as he hooked a strong hand under her knee and pressed it up to her chest. His eyes were still locked on hers as he bit his lip and thrust roughly into her, burying himself to the hilt. Jennifer’s mouth fell open in an O of surprise as she adjusted to the sensation of being so suddenly filled, and Spencer took advantage of this, latching his mouth onto hers and kissing her passionately as he rocked against her slowly. Jennifer wondered if he knew what he was doing; how each minuscule rock of his hips ground deliciously against her, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Of course, it was Spencer, and he never did anything without thinking it through, she thought distantly. As if he had read her mind, Spencer worked his hand between their lower bodies to tug on her swollen clitoris. Jennifer very nearly blacked out at that point; her back arched off the bed and seemingly without thought, she had clasped her legs around Spencer’s hips to hold him tighter to her body. 

She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” he asked. Jennifer could only nod desperately up at him, eyes wild and wide. 

“My God, you’re so wet,” he gasped, and if Jennifer had more of her faculties intact, she would have realized she’d never heard him invoke God before. Spencer’s thrusts grew more erratic and Jennifer felt that she was approaching her peak. By the looks of him, Spencer wasn’t very far behind her. A few frenzied thrusts later, she was shocked and left bereft when he wrenched himself away from her and sat back on his haunches, squeezing the base of his cock as he looked down at her with heavy-lidded eyes. 

Jennifer’s legs were spread wide open and they were trembling. Truly, her whole body was trembling. The cool air on her now-exposed skin spread goosebumps up her flesh in seconds and she reached a hand out to her lover. 

“Why did you stop?” she asked plaintively. Spencer’s chest was rising and falling rapidly and she noticed he still had an iron grip on his cock. 

“I don’t want to finish yet. I’m not done with you by far,” he said, his voice deep and husky. Jennifer felt anticipation light through her veins anew at this proclamation. Slowly, purposefully, Spencer stood up and moved around to the side of the bed, his cock hard and flushed dark pink. Almost without thinking, Jennifer licked her lips as she watched him move languidly. Spencer came to a stop in front of her and the air in the room seemed to stand still. Jennifer crawled over to the edge of the bed and drew him into her mouth. She could taste her juices and his own mingling together on her tongue. It was intoxicating. Jennifer hummed with satisfaction and breathed in through her nose, taking him deep into her throat until her nose bumped against the wiry hair at the base of his shaft. She heard him take a deep, shaky breath in and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. He was looking down at her with such reverence and adoration in his eyes that she nearly lost her rhythm. Spencer threaded his long fingers through her hair and Jennifer felt an immediate sense of calm and safety wash over her. 

Five minutes or an hour could have passed, Jennifer wouldn’t have been able to answer. All she knew was the brief sense of loss when Spencer pulled himself out from between her lips. A thin trail of spit stretched from her lips to the swollen head of Spencer’s cock. Spencer swiped his thumb over her equally swollen lips and wiped it away gently. Then, his nimble hands were on her shoulders, gently maneuvering her over onto her hands and knees. There she knelt, feeling wholly exposed and laid bare in front of the man she loved so much. His hands skimmed over her flesh, trailing teasingly over each curve and dimple. 

She felt a warm, blunt hardness at her entrance and glanced over her shoulder to see Spencer lining himself up, brow furrowed and full lower lip between his teeth as he slowly eased himself into her until his hips were flush with her backside. Jennifer moaned, mouth open wide and eyes blurring. She rested her forehead, beaded with perspiration, on her crossed forearms on the bed in front of her and pushed back against Spencer, encouraging him to keep moving. He obliged her, snapping his hips into her at a punishing pace. Jennifer could feel her release building deep inside her, a tortuously sweet ache that started in her belly and sent tendrils of pleasure shooting through her body. Her hips moved of their own volition, rocking back against Spencer’s thrusts as he slammed into her. His fingers were gripping her hips so hard she knew there’d be bruises there later, but Jennifer didn’t care. She wanted him to mark her up, make her his, let him consume her. Feeling him swell within her, thrusting more erratically, she canted her hips back and up, pressing her torso hard into the mattress to brace herself against the release she knew was coming.

Spencer’s fingers moved against her skin, over where they were joined together up through her folds until he reached the swollen locus of her pleasure between her legs. He circled it with his fingertip once, twice, three times, before pinching the engorged bud between thumb and index finger hard. Jennifer came undone at that. Pleasure ripped through her body like the flames of hell, threatening to carry her away with them. As she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation, she heard Spencer swear from somewhere far away and felt him spill his hot seed inside her. His hips stuttered against her in jerky movements as he finally slowed against her and stilled against her back. 

Jennifer had seen a dam break once when she was younger. The rush of tears flowing from her eyes and soaking the sheets beneath her face reminded her of the way the water had broken free of its confines, overpowering everything in its path. Spencer’s weight on top of her was comforting, keeping her present as the emotional release tore through her body. Jennifer finally let herself cry, shaking with the raw wholeness of it all. She was coming apart at the seams in every sense, but it was purifying her and leaving her with a new sense of relief and contentment. Her head felt fuzzy and there was a deafening noise pounding in her ears but her vision had finally cleared. 

Spencer was still inside her; she realized that she could still feel him inside her, twitching minutely against her sensitive walls. He groaned as he slipped out from between her thighs and collapsed onto the bed, pulling her down and against his chest as he went. 

“My love, my love, my absolute darling,” Spencer murmured as he cradled her in his arms and kissed her all over her face: her forehead, the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth, and the space just under her earlobe. Slowly, she stopped shaking so violently and rested against his chest. 

“How do you feel?” he asked her, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her shoulder. Jennifer gave him a watery smile accompanied by a shaky chuckle. 

“I truly did not expect to cry,” Jennifer admitted to Spencer, laying bare the reality of it. 

“A powerful orgasm can do that,” Spencer said, before nonchalantly adding, “or so I’ve been told. And it was a veritable honor to elicit such a beautiful response from you. You fall apart so exquisitely,” he said, stroking her cheek. 

“I do feel better,” she said quietly, hoping she hadn’t been too wild in the throes of her ecstasy. The noise in her head had quieted to a pleasant buzz that settled in her bones and made her feel lazy and sated. She needed Spencer to hold her closer though, she felt. It was like she needed to feel him still pressed up against her, and she settled in to finally let sleep steal her away as she nestled into the peace that his embrace held.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to describe subspace is a hell of a task. Let me know what y'all think!


End file.
